


Home is where their hearts laid

by HuffleSnuffler



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: (not sorry), A lot - Freeform, Alex is a lovable dick, All mistakes are mine, Angst, Cuddles, Curses, Fluff, Help, Long, M/M, Mr Dawson is done with everyone's shit, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sorry!, Suspense, Tension, War, World War II, cute kisses, i guess, mild violence (ok kinda graphic), people die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-21 20:17:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 55,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11951841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HuffleSnuffler/pseuds/HuffleSnuffler
Summary: ALSO ON FF.NET BY THE SAME NAME:https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12621354/1/Home-is-where-their-hearts-laidPlunging deep into a second world war , how will four unlikely men meet and survive the horrors and laws they face. All in an attempt to go home. (Updates Wednesday and Friday) Alex is there too :'D as well as OCs. This will go to the end of the war too and it's well *cough* gay *cough* anyway moving on! :'DD





	1. Chapter 1: Botany Bay

**Author's Note:**

> AN- UPDATED , finally! :'D we can continue with the rest now! any reviews/feedback are lovely! Xx  
> Disclaimer: I've trailed this story on in mind I guess and realise it might come off as disrespectful - which I don't mean to! I can't stop my mind sometimes :DD this will be long and hopefully fully fleshed taking us right up to the end of the war (yes I plan on bringing these four cinnamon rolls that far) also no disrespect to the LGBTQ community but it was different back then and I'll eventually address those issues so if you don't like that kind of thing , I'll warn you when we get there :) also I don't own the characters but I've sorta developed them /back stories/traits etc. but obviously rights go to Nolan and the film crew :'DD oh I'm sorry that was so long! I'll shush now ;P (THIS IS ALSO NOT 100% CANON TO THE FILM AND WILL BRANCH OFF)
> 
> THIS IS THREE CHAPTERS IN ONE (or there about) and I don't want to re-format the whole thing so I had to compile it here. the others are not nearly as long :'DD anyway enjoy (if you want) ~!

20th March 1936~

Spring sky was softened over with dull grey clouds blocking out any early sun rays who had tried to shift their way through; Peter was sure it was going to rain. Pulling out his bike he had gotten for his 11th birthday, rusted in certain places and the baby blue paint mostly washed down, from the shed and throwing himself onto and he began his new morning trip up to Botany Bay. Despite his father's strict warning that he could only travel to Viking Bay and no further, he raced on. As nice as Viking bay was it was small and Peter wanted more adventure and risks, so Botany Bay it was. The bike ride from Broadstairs to the Bay would last at least a couple hours and as long as he got home before lunch he should get away with it. The trip consisted of pulling up lanes dusted in thistles and long grass, tickling his thighs and under his shorts, and through streets where most residents were still sleeping. And with some wind still whipping through the streets pushing through his blue jumper and the occasional bird flying over head, Peter eventually made it to the cross road to the bay. Ditching his bike as to avoid any more of the paint coming off or puncturing a wheel, she was his only bike, after all, he shoved his way down the sandy and rocky slope onto the bay.

And what a sight it was. Even for a fourteen-year-old, he could still admire in awe the smaller white chalk and moss covered boulders littered throughout along with a small tide coming in and rich yellow sand. The trees gripping some of the wind and dancing along as well as the occasional break through of sunlight made the place seem almost ethereal. He had no particular reason for coming other than a small grasp of freedom he felt, maybe try and climb the tall boulders or see how far out into the vast ocean he could go before danger approached.

The smell of salt was thick and as always would follow him home, stuck in his clothes and dusty blonde hair. Spotting a fairly tall boulder he decided he would see if he was still rusty. Grabbing the thin ledges with his fingers he began shifting his weight. Left to right, right to left and so on. However one of his shoes unfaithfully slipped forcing him to grasp the ledge tighter. Knowing there will probably be some scrapes and cuts to follow. Hauling himself up further, Peter flipped himself onto the top of the boulder.

A vast view of the bay and sea followed. He was certain he could see France from here! Taking in the view he noticed tendrils of seaweed poking out of the water now and again and smaller rocks with seashells occasionally thrown in along the beach. Wiping his hands on his shorts; his Dad is probably going to kill him anyway when he finds out he was so far out so some dirty and slightly bloody shorts wouldn't matter, he took another look around. This time, however, he noticed that there seemed to be a wreckage albeit a small one near a rock pool. Planks and tattered sail splintered throughout the rock pool. Probably a small make shift raft that had been torn up by the sea. Poor thing probably sailed too far in and hit the rocks. There probably wasn't anyone there but still, best to check.

Taking a little more care in coming down from the rocks Peter made his way up the beach towards the raft wreckage. Though it was probably nothing to a well-seasoned sailor to a kid like him, it looked horrid. Shifting his weight slightly he checked for anything noticeable. When a hand came into view from behind the wreckage. A hand? Just great. Making his way through the wallowing planks he came across a small, pale boy. Probably younger than him by a few years by the looks of it, he was rather small with a soft face framed by curly hair, whether from the water or natural Peter couldn't tell, and a pair of ruined shorts and a shirt with quite a few holes in it. He should probably check if the fella was dead. How do you do that anyway? He had just left school but still, they don't teach you these kinds of things/ Bringing himself to the level of the other boy he hovered his ear above his face, listening. It was soft but there. A faint inhale and exhale of air. Alright, so the boy wasn't dead. So Peter couldn't really leave him.

Heaving him up, after checking for any visible injuries other than some bruises and bumps, and onto his back, he went back up the bay. Then realising his bike was still here, and he couldn't really handle an extra body on top of his on the old thing he'd have to leave it. His dad was going to utterly murder him. Trekking back onto the main road he began his trip home. Unfortunately this time it would probably take twice as long if not longer the time to go to the bay and he had to stop to check the other boy wasn't dead too. Oh dear. He'd miss lunch and his dad was probably worried sick. With no other option than to continue, he carried on his way.

It was a good hour of noon by the time he got back and he could already make out two police men standing by the door with his dad. Ducking behind the bush Peter realised they'd probably think he'd murdered the boy! He dropped the boy into the under bushes with little grace and made himself look a little more tired. He'd need a cover story or something. Anything! He could just say he went to the Bay and his bike ended up broken, not entirely wrong but. Or he could say he was chasing - a sheep? No. A robber? Even worse. He'd just stick with the bike idea. Pushing the boy's arm away under the bushes and started heavy breathing he came out of the bushes and made a turn towards them.

'Dad!' he called, getting all three men to turn and noticing his dad still in his gown, earning a tug on his lips. 'Peter! What on earth? Where have you been young man!?' oh no dad was mad again. He met up with them and his dad pulled him into a large hug, time to cover up. 'I went to the bay-' Peter started 'better not have been Botany' was the harsh response making him flinch slightly 'Only to check! I just wanted to see the rocks since Dover would be too much, and my bike broke! I ran into a tree stump, scuffed up my hands. see?' he threw his hands in his dad's sight, covered in dried blood and some bruises. 'Peter-' 'well if this is your missing son we'll be on our way now, look after yourself more kiddo' the police man was straight to the point and the two of them turned and walked away. 'thank you officers!' his dad called as they walked off. He was in big trouble now. 'we need a word young man-' 'dad wait! There was a wreckage' his dad's face flickered to one of concern quickly 'not a big one, like a raft, but there was a lot scattered about and I didn't really break my bike I had to leave it there 'cause there was a boy there - I brought him here! He's under the bush!' realising how stupid he sounded Peter flushed in embarrassment. 'which bush? Show me. Now Peter' the tone was harsh but softer than before. He led him to the bush and pulled back some branches 'Peter, gods he looks half dead' 'He's not! I checked his breathing a lot on the way'. His dad picked the boy up and hauled him inside 'get the first aid kit Pete' Ok we were back to his dad's name for him, good.

Inside his dad set the boy down on the settee and grabbed a blanket, Peter passed the kit to him. 'Good, now go brew him some tea' ' you think he'll wake up so soon? 'now Pete'. Shuffling into the small kitchen full of dishes and fishing awards and equipment, he went about brewing the tea. He heard some groans and his dad moving around with the first aid kit in the lounge and decided to wash up some dishes still left behind from last night. Finishing up the tea he went into the lounge to see the little boy open his eyes, tired deep hazel eyes. 'Here dad, still a bit hot. There's some sugar in but not a lot' knowing his dad hates it when he puts too much in. His dad passed the tea to the boy as he lifted him up and put a cushion behind him. He wished his dad was this nice when he was sick. Standing awkwardly by the door his dad just throws a ' go get changed and grab some fresh clothes for the boy' and he was on his way up the happily worn stairs. Throwing on a spare jumper and some trousers he went down with something similar from his wardrobe and went downstairs. He placed them gently on the chair next to the settee and stood there as his dad patched the boy up. 'It's alright, nothing serious. Few wounds here and there but he came out lucky' his dad closed up the first aid kit and passed it to Peter ' go make him something small'. disappearing into the kitchen he came out a few minutes later with a small ham sandwich and passed it to the kid with a short 'its ham'. The boy was a little shaky but nothing too bad and when asked questions he could only respond with 'lost', presumably his name 'George' and what they thought was his age '13' before eating most of the sandwich and drinking half the cup before passing out.

'Leave him be, was there anything else there?' 'not that I could see, Dad what are we going to do?' 'well, the kid has a sense of wanting to sail so why not bring him into our little family'. And that was it settled, Peter would now have this George in his life from now one. Oh, Lord.

A few weeks had gone by and the boy known as George, Peter had to learn to call him that, had grown into their tight little fishing family. He wasn't a big talker and often would ask to be doing something to help out. They found out he had memory loss probably due to hitting his head or something and tried to sail off the shore of his home town long forgotten and had run into a storm, which was unusual so early in March but it could still happen but just unexpectedly. He knew he didn't like sitting around and against his father's wishes, had gone out to sea. He must have drifted along the coast till he ended up at Botany Bay where Peter found him. He was lucky to be alive if they were being honest and decided it would be best to bring him in as an apprentice of sorts, teach him how to properly sail like he was doing with Peter. Unfortunately for Peter growing fond of George was quite difficult as his father had grown quite attached. It also became clear that George was clumsy and his hair must be natural as the curls had stayed persistence in his dark locks. Peter often found he was staring a little too much. His father had also gravitated towards helping George more often than Peter. And he was definitely not jealous. Not at all. Since Peter had just finished school they decided it's best not to bring George into school. The weeks passed with more small voyages out on Moonstone, their girl, and was spent with him and George being taught by his father.

1937~

Eventually, months passed and Peter and he reached fifteen in July and eventually caved and much like his father grew fond of George, usually catching him and preventing him from being clumsy. They spent the fishing season getting better at the craft but understandably George was yet to be allowed to guide the boat like Peter had once or twice. They had gone to get George his fishing license too much like Peter has last year. Which in itself was taxing. He had messed up his test a few times but eventually go the hang of it and passed, his little card shimmering along with his smile. He lost his first tooth while being with them one day at the park.

They had been playing hide and seek and it was mid-summer so it was rather warm, but this was England so it was accompanied by rain and humidity. The park was slightly damp and they had been having fun on the swings and decided to play the next game they could come up with. Leaving the wooden swings behind Peter hid first. He was taller than George and found curling up in a dead tree quite difficult. Curling his legs up and wrapping his arms around himself he listened. Not hearing George softly counting he decided he was either trying to find him or lost. What he wasn't expecting was a blood-curdling scream that sounded a lot like George. He scrambled out and dusted the wet leaves off as he ran after the noise. When he got there, George was slumped by a tree stump with his hand covering his mouth. He made his way over and didn't understand why he had screamed until in his curled hand he revealed a small baby tooth. He laughed and laughed until he chest burned. George didn't seem to like that and got himself off the ground and stalked home. Peter swore he saw a small thundercloud above his head. He tried cheering him up and apologising the whole way home but George was having none of it. When they go home his dad took care of George's tooth and grounded Peter for a week because of his teasing. Eventually, George caved and began talking to him. A cute faint lisp because of the tooth gap.

It came to August when he heard his Dad and brother having an argument downstairs. It was early morning and he and George were in his hammock when the racket began. He strained his ears to try and see what the mess was about. When what he thought was a plate smashed he decided to eavesdrop. Moving to his room door he silently opened it and sat at the top of the stairs. Listening quietly. He peered over at George to check he was sleeping while he waited.

'You're not going James' 'Dad come on, they're going to enlist me, either way, this just bites the bullet' 'No. You need to stay here and be a fisherman, stay where it's safe!' So they were fighting about James leaving or something. Surely he would come back? What was all the hissing about then?

'If I don't go eventually even here won't be safe! You think I'm just going to stand here and let it happen?! Dad comes on, if I go it makes everything easier than it has to be. You can look after Pete and the smaller kid. George? And I can go and train. Nothing is going to happen until I'm deployed, alright?'

Deployed? Was James off to train somewhere? 'You are going to break this family further James. You know it hurt everyone when your mother-!'

'I know Dad, that's why I have to go. If I don't then they'll get to you and I won't be able to stop them. We live on the coast Dad, don't tell me that it will always be safe!' This sounded pretty bad. Dad never brought their Mum up. Ever.

'And what about Pete, What about us?'

'It's fine, I'll come back. Promise. Besides Pete's nearly old enough to do what I do around here, he can help. Not to mention the other boy'.

'You have to trust me that you come back safe. And send letters to us' 'Of course Dad. Love you.'

'Love you too Son' They must have hugged or something before James was out the door, Jacket in hand blonde hair styled back and dressed in a tight uniform. Just like that. Didn't bother talking to Peter or George or looking back. He just left. Didn't even bother picking up the broken pieces on the floor. He probably wouldn't visit mother.

He didn't know when or how but Peter began to resent him for that.

He helped Dad pick up the pieces and make breakfast before waking George. He never mentioned James again. He eventually found out that he had gone to train at an RAF base in Yorkshire, taking the train. He wanted to be a pilot. He left his family and didn't look back. He barely wrote were as his Dad always wrote a Sunday letter at the kitchen table. Or he'd spot his Dad looking at an aeroplane book, learning about it. James eventually went from one letter every now and then to stopping contact altogether. His dad took it pretty hard. His light blonde hair turning greyer and always had a tight lip when James was mentioned as Peter found by talking about him. Peter resented him even more for that. Promised himself he'd give him an absolute punch when he saw him next and that he would look after his dad and George, be the better son.

George's birthday rolled around in November and they spent the day relaxing in the boat. His dad finally letting him man the Tiller, of which he cause to go out of control. But it was ok because he smiled bigger than the sun and was happy. That's all that mattered that day.

Christmas eventually came around and everyone got a few presents including George. They had the extra money since the season had been decent and since his mother wasn't around anymore and his brother was training. The Presents were small, clothes, lures and other things but the three were more content than usual. George got his brother's room but would usually come into Peter's room at night with nightmares. Typical but it had become routine for Peter to leave his door open slightly and George would slip in without waking his dad and they would cuddle in his hammock till early morning. Not to mention breakfasts were always chaos as they all stumbled around to get the three of them fed. But it seemed to work out alright.

1938~

The rest of the year passed by without incident and by June time Peter and George had become quite close. They never really had any other friends as they were all doing something else, and they didn't go to the bar as Dad said they weren't allowed to do such scandalous things at their age. Most days were spent learning about fishing or sailing, stories of Dad when he was younger and those odd days where they could do whatever they wanted.

It was one of those days by the end of June when they decided to go to the orchard off by the train station on a Sunday when they weren't out by the boats. They went on Peter's newer bike which both his dad and George had pitched in to get him, shiny red paint and larger than the last, up through town. Stopping by the ice cream man who, as usual, shouted them down as the 'two boys with the old man's boat' as usual and they stopped to buy some vanilla cones.

And they were on their way. Reaching the orchard was quick and they ditched the bike to go running through the trees. Noticing some ripe apples he grabbed one for him and one for George, 'you shouldn't steal Pete' his tone was mother-hen like and he turned to look at his hazel eyes 'hey, he won't even notice, here they're great'. He passed on to him, red glaze shining in the sun. The apples were eaten with vigour and the two carried on. Up to their secret meadow within the trees. Laying down and rolling around as if to purposefully mess their clothes up. His dads gonna kill 'em. After some more rough housing, they fell on to the grass with a resounding thud and deep breaths.

Usually finding they could talk about anything this time was no different, 'Pete?' 'hmm?'

'What's all this talk of war?' an innocent enough question but Peter didn't have much knowledge of wars and such and found it was mostly adult stuff so that's what he replied with. 'But surely it's really bad news?' 'gosh, Georgie it's like you want there to be a bloody war!' he exclaimed with a laugh earning a giggle and a flustered reply. 'No! It's just your brother and the talk in the newspapers and-' 'nothing bad will happen, alright?' He felt dirty by the way he sounded like James.

'Promise?' 'promise'. the wind was warm and tussled with their shirts and hair along with bringing along the fresh scent of fruit. 'forever?' he was still being stubborn it appeared. 'For forever!' Peter quickly noticed his hand on George's own and sprung up, heading towards the tallest tree. 'Follow me!' was the rushed out reply caught on the wind as he ran through the yellow field. George was quick to follow and soon they were both a laughing mess running towards the tall pine.

Soon it was a race and one foot after another, branch after branch and of course Peter hit the top first. 'look at all this view Georgie!' soon enough he appeared from the branches smiling and sat next to Peter on the other branch. They continued talking and taking in the light on their faces and the wonderful view of the sky and town. 'Hey, you know? there's no other place I'd rather be' seems like George agreed as he exclaimed 'me too!' and both began giggling.

They sat like that for awhile but along the way, Peter must have been blinded by the sharp sun as they both suddenly feel a branch give way. George's scream, the one sound he dreaded, was enough for Peter to panic and start throwing himself down the tree praying as he went. Hitting the bottom he ran over to George's limp form and shook him 'Georgie? George! Hey!' 'Ow' a hiss 'Ow, Pete. I- I can't feel my arm'. Peter looked at both noticing his left arm was bent something horrid. 'Alright, anything else hurt?' 'My back, ah, a little'. Shifting him up was difficult and Peter began remembering the bay but tossed the thoughts aside. Shifting George's injured arm around his shoulders he put George on his back. 'Alright try to stay awake I'll get us to the bike and dad can get a doctor over, alright Georgie?' the response was a head nuzzling his neck and a murmured 'Ok'. The way home was difficult and he swore George would be the death of him.

By the time he got them home it was late sundown and his dad was already at the door. Unlike last time he didn't look angry and only worried at the sight of them. George almost passed out with a swollen and red arm around Peters neck and Peter with a limp in his leg, an injury sustained from the way down the tree. Both covered in little scraps and twigs and leaves alike.

'My lord Pete, what happened?' his father came to lift George off of him and brought him inside with Peter limping in after them. 'We went to the orchard, climbed the tallest tree, I know it was dumb. It was my idea, all my fault dad. I just wanted us to see what it looked like from there' he paused blinking back a few tears for some stupid reason. 'I don't know what happened but he- I couldn't see, he fell. The branch snapped I think. I was quick to getting down to him I swear' he took a moment to breathe and hissed as he moved to sit down.'I think he broke his arm dad, carried us home on the bike, I swear I haven't panicked more in my life' he was basically in tears by the time his dad got him an ice pack and a cloth. 'I need to call a doctor hopefully It isn't as bad as it looks. You need to rest that leg, keep pressure off of it' 'I know' Peter ducked his head to avoid looking his dad in the eye. He had acted so stupidly and that had gotten George hurt.

The incident however eventually came and passed with Peter's Leg healing quite well and George having to have a sling and bandages for a few months, ashamed he was so clumsy and Peter constantly reassuring him he wasn't. Their routines continued but the nightmares this time would be about the boat or about the tree, Peter felt like a prick for giving him nightmares after almost a year of barely any.

The rest of the year passed in similar fashion, both of them laughing as they did stupid things and getting themselves hurt. His dad swore they were going to be the death of him. They shared everything as a small fishing family and they eventually made a good impression on the people of Broadstairs.

1939~

They continued on in their small life when in mid-February they were relaxing at home, Him and George, reading and what not when someone knocked on the door. He got up and put his tea down walking towards the door. He opened it to reveal his father standing with his hands behind his back and a dopey grin on his face. 'Dad what are you-?' 'shush, where's George, you two get in the lounge I have a surprise'. Doing as ordered he pulled George into the lounge as his dad shut the door. He was slightly anxious as to this so called 'surprise' and waited.

'Ready you two?'

'Yeah, sure Dad'.

The two of them waited as George hid slightly behind him, looking over his shoulder. He heard soft padding and sniffing with his dad whispering 'Go on, in there buddy'. And as they waited, around the corner a little bundle of fur came into view, tripping on the carpet. Fur? George squealed in delight and rushed forward picking it up and hugging it. He was sure he was going to suffocate the poor thing. His dad turned the corner laughing and shouting 'Surprise!'. He looked down and noticed the bundle of Fur was actually a dog. A puppy to be more precise.

'He's a cocker spaniel! Daft animal but a great hunter!' his dad and George laughed away.

'Got him from a man at the docks, He was the last on and the man was going to dump the poor thing in the river! I stopped him and asked him why, said something about the dog being useless. Of course, I took him off of him and brought him home. Thought we could use a small friend.' He dad was bloody mental. They couldn't house a dog, surely not. The puppy was rather fat and mostly white, save for the black tear drop on his back and smaller raven dots. He ran around, bumping into the table once or twice but mostly wagging his tail happily along.

'Jasper! let's name him Jasper!' George exclaimed, 'well alright then, Jasper it is, welcome home Jasper!' His dad and George giggling away. Peter just shook his head at the whole thing.

As the months went by without incident Jasper became part of the family, growing into a slim, healthy dog. He couldn't really help that much but was protective and knew some tricks like 'Sit' and could catch fish in his paws sometimes when they walked him by the Bays. They gave him a little bandana, blue with white fishes on it, and tied it around his neck. Along with a collar to house his id behind it in brown, simple leather. And of course, he softened up to George the most.

And of course Peter the least. But he still grew to love the little bugger.

September rolled into their lives and the UK declared war on Germany. His dad grew quieter and it wasn't until towards the end of September that there was a sharp knock at the door one evening. Peter was finishing up washing the dishes and George and his Dad was out walking Jasper and they wouldn't be back for a while. He moved to open the door after putting the kitchen towel down and was met with an officer of some sort.

'Can I help you, Sir?' He had a letter in hand and a very serious look.

'Is Mr Dawson in today?'

'He is put right now, I'm his youngest son, Peter.' He held out his hand and they shook, but the line he said next made a nervous pit in his stomach.

'I'm afraid boy, that your brother. James. Was killed in action a few weeks ago. In the battle with Squadron No.149. The Vickers Wellington he was in was shot and taken down. There were no survivors seen'. He couldn't think straight and there was a ringing in his ears.

'Do you-' he swallowed the hard lump in his throat 'Do you have the body?' he couldn't look him in the eye as he took the letter. 'Unfortunately not as the wreckage has sunk, we can only confirm the death of him in that plane. However we had this at our office' He pulled a smaller letter, slightly worn and dirty, out of his pocket. 'I am sorry for your loss but I must depart'.

'Of-Of course. Thank you, Sir' He struggled to close the door as the man walked away.

He walked back into the lounge and slumped into the settee. His hands trembled to open the letter which was only going to confirm what he just heard. As he read it over and over, hot tears fell from his face, tarnishing some of the ink. He knew his dad was going to be devastated. He turned the smaller, more crumpled letter and saw that it was addressed to 'My Family' in his brother's handwriting. He wasn't coming back. He failed his promise to his dad. He stuffed the letter into his trouser pocket and sat there with the letter in hand. The tears would dry but new ones would appear as he got angrier. He just had to go and bloody die didn't he! The fool. The resentment and malice came back full force and he smashed the cup of tea that had long gone cold on the table with his fist. He ignored the way it stained his hand and table. Dripping onto the carpet. Ignored the red tarnishing the brown and the ceramic littered around the table legs.

The sun fully set and the house was sent into a dull darkness. He stayed sat there, bloody hand set on his leg and the letter in the other. He didn't bother closing the curtains or cleaning up. His head was too muddled up for that. He heard the soft ticking of the clock as a constant sound in his still ringing ears. He sat there a little longer before he heard barking and the front door being unlocked. They had come home. He had to break the news to them. He had folded the letter back into the envelope earlier and kept it in his hands. Jasper ran straight to him, sniffing him and looking at his bloodied hand. George was in next, soft face gasping as he dropped the lead. His dad was the last in and stared wide-eyed at him.

'Peter my god what happened!?'

George was the first to act grabbing the pieces on the floor and getting the first aid kit. His dad came over and tried to grab the letter. He pulled it to his chest and looked down in horror.

'Pete what, who wrote this? What is it about?' His dad was trying the old soft tactic again, like when he was a young boy.

he decided to repeat the words he'd read a hundred times,

'In the Battle of the Heligoland Bight, Squadron No.149, September 4th, 1939. The reported death of James E. R. Dawson after his Vickers Wellington was shot down by the enemy and consequently dived into the ocean beneath. There was no seen parachute deployed. Presumed dead as no bodies were recovered.' His voice was cracked and dry and the face of George and his father fell. He gripped the letter tightly. 'In other words, he didn't fulfil his promise to you Dad'. The room went silent as George cleaned his hand up, saying he was lucky he didn't need stitches and bandaged it and his dad looked down. He passed him the letter with shaky arms and let him have it. As if he thought Peter was lying. 'An officer came earlier and gave it to me. He had nothing else'. He was aware of the letter sitting accusingly in his trouser pocket. He ignored it. His dad read the letter and silently wept. He had never seen him cry before. Jasper went and sat patiently, softly whining in certain intervals. His dad put the letter in a drawer and told them to get some sleep. They went to bed that night with heavy hearts.

There was a funeral for him in October but Peter couldn't stand it. His resentment had never left and the funeral felt fake. His dad gave him a speech and they left with heavy hearts. he hid the letter in a book he barely read and in his private drawer. Left unopened.

And somehow after all that, they kept living. They simply had to.

May 1940~

It was two years after they first picked George up that the war got worse and they were plunged further into the mess along with France. Though nothing had yet to happen to their home in Broadstairs aside from last year. Peter wasn't so sure it would last that way.

One morning and coming in from the docks along with George and Jasper by their feet, wagging his tail along that he saw his dad at the table reading and having lunch. Kicking off their shoes they sat down at the old settee and relaxed. However, Peter managed to see the headline on the newspaper his dad was reading.

The date was 20th May 1940, and the title read _'BEF forces and allies pushed back into Dunkirk and Further out of Calais'_ and by appearances alone, it wasn't looking good. Food rationing had gotten slightly worse and although Churchill was a good spirit, it looks like this war wasn't happening the way they wanted. Peter decided to confront his father about it. 'what's all this about dad? Dunkirk and all that?' his father looked even older at the mention of it.

'You two best be lucky you were young and to be fishermen at the start of this war so I didn't have to send you off' the silent recognition of James was obvious as he frowned. A sigh. 'It appears we might have to eventually evacuate' George was the first to gasp and half yell 'evacuate!' swatting his arm Peter replied 'and how are we going to do that? They're all the way across the channel, and we don't know the full outcome yet. They could pull through. Right dad?' his reply was gaunt and fairly short.

'I wouldn't bet on it son'.


	2. Chapter 2: Battle of France

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dunkirk is misery.

May 1940~

In all his twenty years of living, he had never felt such terror and defeat. The German's push of mobile operations has left the allies defeated. They've grabbed France, Belgium, Luxembourg and the Netherlands without even trying and the BEF and the French have been pushed into a cold and dangerous corner. They've pushed their armoured vehicles through the Ardennes and Somme Valley which we were told were impenetrable. The allies coming through Belgium had been mercilessly cut off. Now we've been pushed back to the sea.

They had no chance against those bastards.

Tommy was pretty sure they were just sitting ducks. He was walking with what was left of his squadron moving through barren streets which had been left war torn. he approached what would've been a source of water, a small hose pipe, and tried twisting the handle. a dribble of water came through but it was enough for him to clear most of his parched throat. The rest of his small group, of which he had no time to remember the names of, looked just as tired and defeated. They were patrolling for any sign of those Germans, weaving their way through small lanes and dusty streets. The Germans were dropping paper overhead, propaganda by the looks of it. grabbing a few and putting one in his pocket he looked one over. 'YOU are HERE' was broadly printed with an arrow towards the word 'Dunkirk' on a map of France. The rest was just paragraphs about surrender. As if. They hadn't been told much other than to get to the beach. His lack of French made this whole thing a little harder than it should be. It was a dire state of affairs and the silence was just as deafening. His leather boots made too much noise for his liking and he tried to tone it down. The one at the front became startled at something and with a quick hand movement signalling to move back, he understood what was happening. They were here. ducking into the abandoned building nearest to him he sat curled up in a ball with panicked breaths, completely forgetting the trusty rifle laid by his side. God he just wanted to go home.

He knew it wasn't fair to assume the Germans under Nazi control weren't like them. Weren't trying to survive like them. But it helped to think they were safer and wanted them dead (most likely), anything to make him feel less guilty. It still ripped through him like waves. Fear always over took guilt though and this time was no different.

Nothing seemed to happen as they waited, maybe the idiot in the front was messing with them or just saw a rat or something. Anything but them. Stilling his breathing was a hard chore and he listened. And listened. He only managed to hear the soft padding of feet moving. And it definitely wasn't one of his group. He twisted himself to look through the smashed window beside him and could see one of his group whimpering across in the opposite building. That was anything but good. He made shushing motions at him but it only made things worse. If anything he needed some help. the whimpering man held up his hand and it was covered in dark, thick blood. The sight made his stomach churn but it looked like he'd cut his hand up on broken glass or something in the panic to be silent and hidden. And it probably won't be a nice wound. he had two choices, either stay where he was and hope they don't hear or move to help and get him to shut up. God damn his morals.

With his best intake of breath, he grabbed his rifle and twisted his body into a push-up position and launched himself across the dusty street. Sliding into the whimpering man as they both flinched and the dust and dirt settled. But nothing happened. Tommy opened his eyes to see the man had calmed down some. Grabbing the closest thing on him to a cloth, some rags from his inner jacket, he covered the wound and tightened it. Earning a small whimper. Tying a knot and giving him a firm pat on the shoulder he turned himself over to look at the street. He noticed the other three still hiding and silently praying, and the Germans further up throwing things around and smashing doors. it wouldn't be long till they made it to them. Tommy only then realised he was sat in the man's lap and lurched forward whispering a few 'sorry's and blushing slightly. The man didn't seem to mind and gave him a small smile.

only then did they suddenly hear shouts from up the street, they were on their way. 'we gotta go' he whispered as small as possible. 'But the other three' he voice was calloused and unused. 'Well, either run with me mate or stay here. But they'll kill you'. He made short signals to the others and got into position. Throwing a half smashed bottle forward down an alley as a distraction, he made a run for it. The other four seemed to follow as they scrambled to their feet and soon they were very awake and were running. The Germans caught on and began shouting, probably getting their rifles ready. One turn after another the men around him were being shot down, including the one he helped. He didn't have time to remorse, seeing a fence up ahead he had a feeling he could make it. hoisting his rifle into a good throwing position he lobbed it over the fence. He followed soon after. reaching the top he threw himself over with little grace. Landing on the ground he reached for his rifle and tried to load it for firing. The bolt carrier was stuck leaving him trying to lurch it forwards. the Germans had begun shooting the faintly painted blue fence from left to right with each shot making him cringe. Come on. Finally managing to get the damn thing loaded he swivelled round and fired blankly. Luckily it seemed to give him a moment to turn and run around the corner. Unfortunately, he was met with a barricade of sandbags and rifles on an open fire.

'I'm English! E-English!' it was pathetic and his voice was dry enough to crack but if it got them to realise he wasn't the enemy then fine. the man at the front gave him the signal to move forward. Running across he pushed in. Alright then. he passed through the dirty looks and made it in and out of the streets and onto the top of the beaches. If he was, to be honest, he'd say it just looked even bleaker. The dark sky and dull ocean paired with all the men and wounded out in a formation and stood creepily still were a scary sight. Not to mention the lack of ships at the long stretch of rocks and wood called the Mole.

Tommy made his way down the dull slope littered with dry grass and small rocks and into the slanted beaches. how were they supposed to leave here? the place was too shallow for a destroyer or warship. He walked down slowly and his mind was buzzing. The ringing in his head hadn't ceased and every sound made him jump. He just wanted to be home. Home. Home. But going back there now? He'd be disgusted by himself. How could they dare look them in the eye and feel even a bit satisfied with themselves? Crawling out of hell and expecting a warm welcome? Jog on.

Continuing he turned round the corner to take a quick piss and on his way out spotted a man, probably older and with a bigger frame, burying a man who was probably his friend. Making his way over he helped shuffle some sand to help bury him. He made eye contact with the guy and got a very suspicious look in return. He could only smile slightly and try to help to bury him. He assumed he was French and didn't really know how to communicate with him. He tried miming a dog tag, making him appear pretty stupid looking. The other man seemed to get it and held out his tag. Gibson L. was written along covered in dirt. He held out his for the man to look at. He glanced over the 'Benson T.' before trying to pronounce it. The syllables were gruff and incoherent making him giggle slightly. However, he noticed another flash of silver from his inner pocket and made a grab for it. Pulling out another Tag but with 'Belshaw. R' written across covered slightly in tar. The man grabbed it and pushed it back into his jacket. Giving him a weird look he turned to make signals towards the beach. The man, Gibson, heaved himself up and made his way down to the beaches. Tommy had no choice other than to quickly follow behind. He hoped that this Gibson wasn't too bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N - hey another chapter :P - again point anything out that I got wrong, and if you got the real subtle poem references I will love you forever! comment if you want! :DDD)


	3. Chapter 3: The fall of France

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> France had Fallen down. My fair lady.

Reaching the front of the cold beach wasn't hard and following Gibson's path seemed to be the best thing to do. They lazily walked down to meet up with one of the large groups of men away from the Mole. Speaking of such, the mole was large stretched out pier of white planks which seemed to be fit for purpose. The only place it seems a destroyer or bigger could dock. Though any had yet to show up. As they walked Tommy noticed the wounded had been stretched out behind them and some were being tended to, the plan was probably to evacuate them first and then the healthy ones could follow. Meeting up with the nearest group he stood close to Roussel and tried to make himself appear smaller. They brushed up against each other but the contact was rather pleasant due to the lack of it of their time spent here.

Suddenly a small commotion began at the front and it appeared to be a happy one, If the cheering was anything to go by. Gibson mimed a boat on some waves and since Gibson was taller it made sense he could see what the cries were all about, still, it was a relief. A boat had made it. They'd be home soon. Some men retreated from the groups and began grabbing the wounded on stretchers to take them to the mole where the Ship could be seen docking. It seemed they'd have to stay put until all the wounded were taken care of.

After a few hours of waiting, most of the wounded were boarded but there was still a few to go. Though some had passed away. It was only when most of the men stilled that the telling noise of humming and a shrieking siren could be heard from above. Looking up with a hope it was quickly evident that the noise wasn't coming from in front of them like they hoped but from the side. Bombers. German Bombers. Stukas. 'Oh shi-' before he could say anything else Gibson pulled him to the ground and much like them, everyone scrambled to get down in time kicking up grey sand as they went. The sound became Harrowing and above them swooped in the bombers starting their loads. Shaking the ground and causing dust storms as they went it was only time before they came to their part of the beach. Luckily the bombers were slightly slow in dropping bombs and so there was a little gap where you had a chance of living, unluckily Tommy couldn't tell if they were in one. Time slowed and the only sound was the ticking of his pocket watch and his own heart thumping. Dust fell over them and debris started to rain down. Screams were muffled behind his ears and he couldn't tell if he was shaking or if it was the ground. Probably both. After about fifteen minutes, that felt like hours, he felt Roussel move. At least he was alive. Opening his eyes he looked around and noticed the planes had left, leaving a living nightmare in their wake.

bodies were strewn left and right and he was sure he could see limbs among the sand, gagging slightly, he turned to see the mole. Luckily their way out had survived but the land hadn't fared as well. The beach was littered and the gouges along the beach left behind would make it troublesome to move around as quick. There were men in the panic with shouts of 'Where's the bloody air force?!' and 'We're gonna die down here! Bastards!' sending shivers up his spine. The ringing in his ears had worsened and everything was blurry. He turned to look at Gibson and nodded. Besides, the next wave wouldn't be far health shouldn't get in the way of escaping. Gibson turned and began advancing towards some of the stretchers left behind. But what he saw made Tommy's blood run colder. Halting he took in the sight. Gibson's trench coat had been torn open from the shoulder to below his neck into his lower back. The under jacket and shirt ripped back and it was just red. Dark red. Pooling around a gruesome tear in his skin. Either he hadn't noticed, surprisingly, or didn't care but Tommy still had to prove his concerns. As he rushed to meet him, shaking his arms around and motioning to his back, Gibson turned his head and placed a hand on his back removing it to only see red.

A small sound of recognition was his simple reply 'well take it off eejit! let me grab something to patch it with, God there's no medical care. what are we gonna-' he didn't know why he was speaking, Gibson couldn't understand him. He gestured to his pants and shirt and made a plus symbol with his red stained fingers. The message probably to get something to cover the wound and stop the bleeding. He scurried around and found a shirt and some trousers which he ripped in two halves and jogged back over.

When he returned Gibson had removed his layer and was slipping off his shirt to make the wound accessible. Cringing and trying not to throw up what little he had left in his stomach he helped the other man wrap and pressurise the wound. After he found some new clothes to interchange with his current ones, Tommy didn't want to think about how they were getting these clothes and pulled himself off the floor. Hissing and shifting his back slightly, Gibson gave him a short smile before walking to grab a wounded man on a stretcher. Motioning for him to get in front. The man was barely breathing and suffering from chest wounds. They hoisted him up with Tommy at the front, Gibson at the back, and began moving quickly. It wasn't till they heard the familiar hum that they started, for lack of better words, legging it.

Scrambling through the scattered soldiers and then dead they started making their way to the mole. As much as he wanted to keep the man alive Roussel seemed to have other ideas as he forcibly began pushing forward to get there faster. The Stukas were quick in returning and began their second bombing. This time, however, pushing the way they had left. Making their way towards them. The mole was packed full of soldiers and only admitting Englishmen and the wounded. The bombs were getting closer. Tommy had never felt such an instinct to run, pushing past the generals and the men they began the trip along the mole filled with men.

The planes had reached them at this point and began bombing the bottom of the mole, His heart was thundering in his ears and the sounds of everything else were quiet in comparison. As the planes flew over everyone ducked down, the destruction of parts of the Mole followed. They were up again and pushing through. They came up to a single plank singed with burn marks and the harsh rocks beneath. He hesitated when two of the men gave him encouraging looks and one hollered 'You can make this one mate!'. Without a second glance, he briskly walked across the plank to the other side, feeling the way it sunk with the combined weight of the three. It was over in a few seconds as they both ran across and were strangely applauded.

The planes had momentarily ceased as they ran up to the Destroyer that had docked. Everyone was frantic but the two carried the man on regardless. The relief was short lived as the captain yelled for 'you two!' to get off the ship as it was leaving. Gibson went in front and began moving forward. Tommy did a double take of the ship before swivelling around to get off but couldn't see Gibson. His panic was quickly eased away as he heard him 'psst'ing him down from below the Mole. He started clambering down to meet him and staying out of sight. Are all French people such minxes? Probably. They sat and waited for the ship to start leaving before they could climb in through the side portholes.

As soon as the boat had begun moving after being cut loose the quiet humming had returned and was presumably coming back for round three. Oh, golly. They held onto the large rafters underneath and waited. The boat hissed as it was hit and the screams echoed. Squeezing his eyes shut he waited. Roussel hissed at him and he opened his eyes to see the side of the boat shifting horribly into the mole. Oh God, it was going to crush them. Painfully at that. Men had already begun jumping ship or grabbing onto the mole. Roussel dragged his arm back as he made his way further under the mole and he followed. But as he looked back he saw one of the men, probably Gibson's age, drowning beneath the cold, dark and terrifying waters underneath the beams.

To hell with it.

Shrugging Gibson's hand off he went over and shouted at the man while reaching out to him. He seemed to notice and grabbed his hand, as he started pulling he realised he wasn't exactly strong and felt Gibson's arms around his waist to anchor him back. Pulling the man into safety they all took a deep breath. The boat in front of them screeched as it sunk crushing and drowning it's men as it went. Tommy sub consciously buried his face with his eyes screwed shut into the man's chest to avoid looking at the gruesome scene. Gibson seemed to cough and he pulled back startled and with a red face. God damn it. The man seemed to smile and shifted back. He was about to ask if he was alright or what his name was before they were rocked to the right and downwards. They grabbed the concaving beams in panic for support when they realised something with utter dread in their eyes. The mole was sinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (AN - woohoo another chappie, I wonder who this mysterious man is ;) - anyway, comment if you would kindly! :DD - I appreciate it all )


	4. Chapter 4: The Mole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mole is hope personified.

The Mole as he found, wasn't actually sinking. Well not entirely. The front half's side was being taken down with the destroyer and in the chaos, Gibson had managed to haul him off the man and to his side. He motioned towards the water and smiled. Looks like they had to jump. Simple enough. Shifting their combined weight they moved across the beams to the other side of the Mole to get to the screams of the dying men behind them. Only then had they realized they were not as wet as the others and definitely did not look like they came from the wreck. Roussel seemed to think the same and dropped down into the safer waters and resurfaced, urging him to follow. once they were wet and ashore they moved away from the ship that was quickly becoming a wreck. The man Tommy had saved had followed them and seemed to want to stick with them, fair enough.

any other survivors had also moved away and swum to shore, the bombers had left and things seemed to settle. The captains had hollered the men away from the Mole, hoping the Germans wouldn't bomb where there were no soldiers. Though that was unlikely, The mole was their way out after all. They moved down the beach to a safer area to sit and wait, there wouldn't be another ship for awhile now. He thought now would be a good time to question this mysterious man. 'So uh, what's your name?' it was an awkward way to start but it was something. 'Alex, Alex Chapel' the reply was carried with a smirk. God, he's just as bad as Gibson. Speaking of Gibson, he peered over to his left to see him hunched slightly and looking forward. a slight frown on his lips. He was sulking. Like a kicked puppy. 'Thanks for the 'ave mate! 'ought I was a gone' ya know?' this man's, Alex, outburst startled him slightly and he looked back in his direction. 'it's - it's nothing. Pardon me, my name's Thomas Benson, this is uh-' looking in Gibson's direction 'Gib-' a shove in the back making him arch forward slightly 'my friend' he ended curtly. It seemed he'd been sharing his name more lately, which was bizarre since that wasn't something you did...in war. Alex seemed unfazed and joined Gibson in the act of looking out towards the sea.

This gave him an opportunity to take in their new companion. His hair was a deep brown unlike their raven locks and probably lighter since it was wet, a decent jaw in comparison to Tommy's own sharp one, a build much like Gibson's and a similar height along with green eyes which were different to his oceanic blue. his skin was also a dark tan like Gibson's but maybe lighter and unlike Tommy's own freckles, he seemed to have quite empty skin aside from the odd small scar. He seemed to notice him staring and turned to look right at him causing his face to heat up and his head to dart in the other direction. Alex let out a small chuckle and continued facing forward.

The young men were silent for awhile before Tommy heard Gibson hissing and moving with jolts in his back. He had completely forgotten his injury in the chaos of the ship incident. Gasping he blurted out 'God I forgot about your back! is it bleeding again? we can try re-bandaging it or-' he got a glare from him even though he couldn't understand and a questioning look from Alex. Oh dear. He shifted his weight to stand 'Stay here' is what he told them and walked to find some cleaner cloth and maybe some water. He didn't go too far out but managed to find a half full canteen of water, a miracle, and some fresh cloth from some shirts. He came back and sat down behind Gibson. Helping him take off the trench coat and other layers to reveal a bloodied make-shift bandage and some raw skin. Alex sucked on his teeth behind him murmuring how it looked 'prett' bad mate' but Tommy ignored him and his accent. Ordering Gibson to stay still he began unwrapping the cloth which had stuck to the wound. Hissing and blood ensued making him feel sick. He'd have to go through with it anyway. grabbing the water and getting Roussel to lay on his back, he tried to clean the wound with a damp cloth and the water. Alex sat patiently and let Tommy work. He re-did the bandage and tied it tight but not enough to stick too hard to the wound. Helping Gibson get dressed again and they went back to being silent.

Alex begun with 'how did he-' cutting him off he replied 'he got it from earlier, Shrapnel wound I think. Don't. It is painful for him alright? don't tease him' he had no idea why he was being so defensive or even dare he say domestic and Gibson only glared harder at the admittance of weakness but it seemed to be enough for Alex as they went back to looking at the longing ocean. Time passed and soon it had become sundown, it wasn't like they kept track of time or the day of the week but still. 'We nee' to sleep some'here more secure' Alex was the first to speak up. 'We can't miss another ship' 'we won' someone can keep watch 'very couple hours or whateve' and we can get some sleep in a safer area'. He turned to Gibson to see if he was against it but he seemed to also stand up, followed by Alex. Sleep it was then.

They moved towards inland and found a small cave that looked big enough for the three of them. Gibson went in first since he was injured, followed by Tommy and then Alex who decided to take watch first. Gibson settled down at the back resting his injured back just in front of the back of the cave. Tommy slipped in and settled in front of him with Alex sitting at the entrance. What he didn't expect was Roussel to be a cuddler when he 'slept' and half way through their 'settling in' he felt large arms wrap around his waist. Oh dear, he was being spooned. He didn't have the heart to shove him off since it's probably the first time he's tried to sleep peacefully in a while. Alex didn't seem to notice and he fell into a light silence with heated cheeks. it became obvious they couldn't sleep. Harrowing nightmares plagued his mind, every sound put him on edge and every movement made him flinch slightly. Perhaps they'd finally succumbed to that Shell shock he'd heard so many horrors about.

At some point Alex 'woke him up' and he thought he'd need to take watch but he followed by saying 'It's dockin', wake your 'friend' up' and heading out the cave. A ship has arrived! he turned to gently wake Gibson up, aware of his injury. He shifted out of the other man's arms and untangled their legs, a blush forming on his face. Roussel seemed to grunt and turn slightly before waking up, oblivious to his sleeping habit. When all three were out they saw the sky which was an orange and purplish hue and the sun could be seen slowly creeping up. The boat looked a similar size to the destroyer and docked at what was left of the mole. They walked down towards the mole and so did some other soldiers and they proceeded to make their way down. Maybe this time they'd go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (AN ok so I was GONNA stick with that schedule but then was like - never mind so here anyone who happens to be interested this far in :'DD thank you for sticking with me:'DD)


	5. Chapter 5: Ramsgate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramsgate is their home.

His dad was right. Churchill had ordered the ultimatum. The 300,000 odd men at Dunkirk needed to be evacuated. They had sent Destroyers out but they hadn't returned, most likely sunken to the depths. It was noted that the beaches were too shallow for the warships and they needed smaller ships to go in. Peter didn't know for definite but it seemed they'd be heading Moonstone out across the channel along with the other boats docked. The man who owned Sundowner, what was his name? He couldn't remember, had already set up and ordered in life jackets to bring to the men. The country sat with bated breath, this shouldn't take too long. Those men didn't have the time.

It was a fair bit into May and the air was still holding onto it's January chill. He and George had woken up to a scrawled note from his father to meet him at the docks. Pulling on their warmest clothes, a burgundy jumper and under shirt for Peter and a patterned woollen vest and a shirt for George. along with trousers and simple boots and they were on their way. They left Jasper with Mrs Hamilton, an old widow who used to run the orphanage with a lovely smile. She said she'd take great care of him. Walking down to the docks wouldn't take too long since Ramsgate was close to their home in Broadstairs. He hadn't let George see the note left by his dad but it had undertones that George was not old enough or well adapted to sailing to come along. If he was honest Peter was worried for his safety if he did come. he wasn't naive enough to think the war wasn't horrifying or extremely dangerous, however, he had a feeling George was a little more naive than a usual person.

When they reached the docks they noticed the unusual presence of most of the boats and the navy, as well as a long line of life jackets being unpacked from trucks. It didn't take long to spot their smaller boat, Moonstone, painted white and deep maroon. His dad appeared to be setting up for the trip. Making their way across he jumped on to help set up. Pulling the rig to get it into place and checking the room downstairs he heard muffled voices of both George and his father. Helping move the life jackets below deck, he noticed that George wasn't boarding. ' won't let me on, Pete. Tell him' he hesitated as he turned to his father and saw his concerned look. 'I-I don't think it's such a good idea Geo-' 'not you too! come on, I'll be useful!'. His voice was taught and it made Peter's heart clench. 'Maybe, here go grab the tea supplies, and some bread and butter' sending George off would make this a little easier. He made eye contact with his dad and their eyes spoke volumes to each other. It just wasn't safe enough.

When George had returned and everything was set up his dad told him to man the Tiller to direct the boat out the docks. As they set sail he saw George jump aboard. 'George! What are you doing?!' He ignored him and turned to his dad, 'I promise, I'll be useful Sir'. His persistence seemed to be enough to make his dad cave and he turned back to the wheel. 'Dad, you can't be serious?' 'Peter' was the short and stern reply. That seemed to settle it as they turned out with a few of the other boats to make their way across the Strait of Dover.

They could probably pack 40-50 men onto Moonstone before she'd couldn't take anymore, It'd have to be first come first serve. The wind was light meaning it would take a little longer than usual and the water seemed to be relatively still, meaning they wouldn't have to fight the current as much this time. They were following a Destroyer who would pick up most of the men for this trip round and they would help ferry them back across, picking men up at the shallow beaches or maybe a sinking vessel. There was the looming threat of U-Boats or Bombers but they seemed to be safe for now. Half a day passed before they heard a small hum. Startling George and getting his father to turn his head. It seemed that this time they wouldn't have to worry as three Spitfires roared overhead, gaining cheers from the other ships and their own. Looks like back up finally came.

it wasn't until further up the Strait did they turn towards Dunkirk and noticed smaller wrecks dotted along. making it clear the U-boats had got to them before the RAF could. Looking out towards one of the wrecks George seemed to perk up. 'There! do you see him! we need to turn and go get him!' and to their surprise there seemed to be a survivour hauled on top of the sunken hull. It seemed the Ship had been hit from the back making it sink backward, leaving the top above water. Lucky. They shifted the boat and made their way towards the man. He was hunched over and probably shaking but still noticed them approaching. Peter went to grab the rope which had been stored for this kind of thing. Hollering towards the man he threw the rope over. It didn't reach far enough so reeling it back in, he tried again. Eventually, the man got the rope and swam through to meet them. Hauling him over the side and onto the deck he was shivering. But it was May, the waters shouldn't be that cold. He asked George for a blanket and after drying him off and giving him the blanket, the man didn't move. He didn't speak and only continued to shake on the floor. After telling him their names, George tried to give him some tea. He moved as if he had been burned and slapped the tea away and shouted, causing it to fall onto the deck.

'The boy has shell shock. Leave him be'. Shell Shock? wasn't that a myth? George seemed curious too and asked 'What's Shell Shock?' his father turned around and replied ' It's a state of mind, men have it coming back from the war. They don't see what we see. Different visions, that kind of thing. Comes along with the 'thousand yard stare', he'll be fine for a while in a bit. Let him rest you two'. Again he thought the stare was a myth but looking back at the man and seeing him looking at nothing particular, maybe it wasn't. If this is what happens to men at war, why do they start them in the first place? Hardly seemed fair. Then again Peter was never good at politics.

A few hours passed before this man, who Peter guessed was about 25-27 spoke up. He stood and met his father at the wheel. The length from the Tiller to the Wheel was enough for Peter to eavesdrop. 'H-Hubert' 'Your name son? well alright then, call me John' they shook hands and Peter thought it was weird they were on a first name basis already. Hubert seemed to look forward before asking 'Where, where are we going?' 'To Dunkirk of course, we have men to rescue' This seemed to set this 'Hubert' off as he threw out ' No! you have to turn back!' there was a bit of scuffling before he moved back. 'You're not navy? what are you doing here!? you should be back there! at home!' he shouted while pointing towards the way they came and shouting exasperated 'I can't go back' 'I won't go back!'. His dad looked frustrated before closing the conversation off with ' This is war son, we need to protect our men and bring them home. Peter, bring Hubert into the bed area and bring him some tea. After doing so and having some small talk with this Hubert he closed the door. Debating locking it, if he had another outburst? he could do some damage, but if the boat began sinking? he'd be stuck. He walked back up without locking it.

He spotted George on the side of the boat, looking out towards the vast ocean. He didn't seem bothered by the scenario they were heading into, not to mention the light made his skin shine and his hair tousled by the wind made him look cute- wait, what? Not the time Pete, never the time. He sat down back next to the Tiller to help in guiding the boat once again, It wouldn't be long now. Wouldn't be long until they were in a war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ok, so I promise this is getting somewhere! slow-ish burn , they will eventually meet up I swear:'D)


	6. Chapter 6: The 'East' Mole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carry on my wayward son.

The Mole as he found, was known as the East Mole and after the scurry from the hellish bombing earlier some of it was beneath the sea. The sunken walk down was mostly silent as they made their way up to the long stretch of fence and rock. He spotted a captain and a man who was probably a general, loading men onto the boat. They moved along the white stained wood as it creaked and shifted under their movements. It didn't look like she had much left in her. One more bombing like the others and there was little hope. They moved to get on the Destroyer as the Captain gave them a curt nod. Alex moved on first and then so did he. As they walked inside a middle aged lady handed them life jackets telling them that there were jam and toast on the tables. Food. He hadn't eaten In days and in fact, no one had. now he really wanted some jam and toast. They were pushed in further and he stayed close to Alex, A familiar face was better than standing with complete strangers. Moving towards the table they picked up some slices of toast and silently ate. There was a happy buzz around him with young men talking giddily and making hand gestures. He was almost certain that they were all stories from back home.

around ten to fifteen minutes passed when Alex spoke up 'Oi. Where's your friend goin'?' he pointed to the door and Tommy turned and noticed Gibson move out of the hatch door as they closed it. From the outside. 'A way out, If we sink'. However out there it would be cold, he might not have a life jacket and wouldn't have jam and toast. It made him worry. Not to mention his still barely healing back. He turned back to Alex as he also began telling stories of his home. He never knew his father but loved his mother and little sister dearly. Much like Tommy but he had been motherless since birth and had an older sister, Lily, who he also missed dearly. He and his father never really got along much anyway. They were docked there for a few hours, having tea and chatting like one large family. Each other talking about girls back home, He grimaced at the thought, or mums and dads, rough housing and spilling jam on the floor, Cheering as some men made an arm wrestling bench to match each other on. He hadn't seen Roussel since the door incident and Alex had kept him quite occupied. They, well Tommy had moved quite close to the door and Alex had followed. Something didn't feel right. At least, he thought Roussel must be out in the cold for a reason.

They left the Mole and another hour or so passed when there were a large hiss and a deafening thud. The ship shifted and everyone tried to brace. People started screaming as the floor became wet. They were felt a nervous feeling coil in the pit of his stomach and the blood rushed through his ears. He frantically reached for Alex's hand while looking around to see where the water was coming from. Alex seemed to be doing the same thing and they latched onto each other, he made the excuse in his mind it would give them better leverage and not because he was a scared baby of which he shouldn't be as that was un-tolerated. Some of the crew on top could be heard bellowing 'Torpedo!' and 'We've been hit sir!' but the door hadn't opened yet. Why wasn't it opening? The water was at their waists and since the ship was packed like sardines it meant it was easier for the water to rise. It was only when Alex shifted them towards the door and got him to hold onto the steps by the hatch and held him against the wall next to it with a loud 'I need ya to hold your breathe alright' Freckles?!' when he started to feel terrified. They were going to drown and rot here. Helpless. The door had yet to open, were they really just abandoning them here? The water had reached their heads and he was in full panic convulsing painfully and vision becoming black. Alex had him snug against the wall and steps while telling him to hold in as much air as possible. He couldn't do that for very long that was for sure. When the water had them all submerged he clenched his eyes shut. Darkness enveloped him but he could still feel Alex on him and he was holding his hand tightly. His head hurt as water filled his lung slowly and gushed past his ears making them ring again. It must have been about 12-17 seconds, he wasn't sure when he saw a light behind his eyes. He opened them to see the gaunt and gaping faces of death, floating still in the water. He forced himself to turn to see the hatch open! A hand plunged down and he grabbed it instantly. He was pulled out and shuddered as he gasped for air. Alex followed suit. He was met with Gibson's familiar eyes and smile. Thank God. They quickly jumped ship and prayed the life jackets would hold out for them. They swam backward as the Destroyer sunk beneath them, taking most of its men with it.

They eventually swam back to shore, they were back to square one. Again.

They were wet, exhausted, shaken and most of all defeated. They sat in the familiar spot from before but this time much more drained. Gibson was still as silent and Alex had also seemed to quiet down. They seemed to be glaring at each other if anything. The sun was setting and he was cold. And still wet. He turned to look back at the Mole, the captain and whoever he was still talking. Though they were probably just as tired they certainly were bad at getting ships out successfully. The ratio of sunken ships to ones that got out must have been like 3:1. It just wasn't going their way. The tide had gone in and left dirty sea foam behind, he sat and let it get stuck to his laid down and looked like he wanted to try and doze off, Alex appeared to be watching another group of men intently. 'Oi, I say we follow 'em' he pointed towards the group.

'What, why?' 'cause it looks like they're headin' for that beached ship,' he pointed to a slightly rusted fishing boat up the beaches 'it'll be out by the time the tide gets in. They probably have a sailor with 'em and those navy bastards aren't getting us anywhere. It might be our chance out, you can even bring your 'friend' He sneered at Gibson as he mentioned him. 'O-Ok then, we'll go'.

They jogged up to the group and joined them, they didn't seem to mind, the more the merrier he guessed. They clambered into the slightly rusted fishing boat, it should be able to get them to the boats further out where they can join up with them. Gibson sat down, with a slight hiss and Tommy followed. Definitely not cuddling up to his side, since that's not what normal blokes do. He seemed to embrace the warmth though and put his hand on the small of his back. Alex sat in the front area displaying clear dominance and leadership. The other men seemed to be empty in heart and mind, not really doing anything in particular. That's what the war had done to most of them, stripped them of everything they had around them apart from the few things. He was realizing he still held a bit of naivety and that those things he should hold onto probably came in the form of Gibson and Alex. Funny how such situations could that only you and a few others had experienced could bond you so fast.

The night went on and a few of them tried to sleep and it eventually became morning. But the tide hadn't pushed them out, surely it would at this time. Everyone seemed to be of the same mind and a few started questioning it. It must have been an hour before they heard telling footsteps on deck. Oh no. Had the Germans begun pushing onto the beaches already? The footsteps continued and Alex got the men and hustled them into position. Tommy and Gibson stayed in the corner. Though he seemed to shift so he was more in front then next to him. The men beneath the hatch waited with their rifles, one of the few that hadn't been water logged and destroyed.

It all seemed to happen so fast, The footsteps came to the hatch and as they opened it the men pulled the offender down and hustled him to the ground with their rifles pointed at him. There was a scramble and Tommy got a glance at the man, a fishing cap? Wait a minute. 'Oi! He could be English eejits! A fisherman!' his outburst got him some attention and they slowed to look at the man. He was middle aged, Ginger with a beard and wore your bog standard fisherman's outfit. A light to his eyes most of them had already lost. He scrambled reassuring them that he was indeed English and had brought his boat but it ran aground. his boat? 'C-civilian ships, we've come to bring you home, and I'm, Uh, Dutch' he thought he was about to cry when Alex stepped in and removed the men off of him. Pulling him to his feet. He heckled him about the tide, he replied with saying it'll take longer and explained why Tommy didn't really understand so he left it. He said something like it was better to wait then leave or try and push the boat out to sea, it wasn't safe. They waited awhile and slept some more before the one thing they all wanted to avoid happened. The clink of metal upon metal resounded amongst the ship and they all turned to see a familiar harrowing sight. A bullet hole piercing through the side straight to the other. Miraculously avoiding hitting any of them. The rest was history as the whole group descended into Panic.

Utter Panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (AN - woo another chappie, feedback if you would like - I appreciate any advice!)


	7. Chapter 7: Sinking Ships, Sinking Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunk to the Depths.

Everyone scrambled to the side, as more holes began appearing at the side. This really wasn't looking good. Alex hushed everyone and they stilled up against the front and back rusted walls. There was about pierced five holes each side, they could cover them up? right? They could hear the ground thundering outside, they were here again. A few of the men were asking why they were being shot at, Alex only hissed out ' I don' know, targe' practice?!' his accent thicker this time. The boat shifted slightly and the fishermen blurted out that the tide must be coming in.

The firing seemed to halt and so did the tremors when they decided some one had to go out and check. It was certain Alex wasn't going and neither was the fisherman. Tommy pulled Gibson up with him and they all stood huddled. After a few barks the men started becoming threatened and scared by Gibson and his lack of speaking but he couldn't speak English. But they didn't know that. If they found out there's no chance he could help Gibson in getting back home(since when did he want to get him home). The two of them were shifted to the ladder with rifles pointed at them. This really wasn't looking good. The ladder was sharp against his back and the rifles glistened ironically at him. Alex pulled some men out of the way before he eyed Roussel up suspiciously. Uh oh.

' An' what about you mate? got any reasons as to why you ain't speakin'?'

He went for Gibson's chest and Tommy's heart caught in his throat. Alex grabbed his dog tag and stared at it.

'Gibson aye? that's a rather...interesting name there mate, you sure you're English? _Gibson_ ' the name was spat with venom as the men backed him up. Time to step in.

'Alex back o-off, it's his friends, don't be so harsh' 'what? his friends? how are we to know that he ain't picked that off some dead man, clothes and all!'

'He wouldn't do something like that moron! that's not like him, look he's in the same boat, literally, and it isn't fair. Some one should volunteer or' the men seemed to push harder with their rifles and Tommy was sure they were gonna die.

'French.' it was gruff and the syllables are spoken with little experience, the first English he'd heard from him. 'You're kidding me, He's a god damn Frog Freckles?! how long have you known?!' Alex turned to glare at him. Shit. 'Look here, he just wants to get home as well it's not-' 'His home is back there in France eejit!' he thrust a thumb in the direction behind them. Back there. Back there was not home. It was hell. 'We aren't bringing a fucking Frog with us. He's going up'

'What no that's not - Alex!'

It happened so quickly, one moment he was next to Roussel with a pointy ladder at his back and next he was tucked at Alex's side an arm tight around him and the men were ushering Gibson up the ladder. 'Wait! Alex this isn't fair! he doesn't -ow! I'll go!' Alex kept him grounded but he managed to get out and pulled Gibson back down and starting climbing as Gibson gave him a sad frown before he went up the hatch. Looking around bleakly he surveyed the area before climbing back down. 'Why did you- fuck - what did you see Freckles?'

Everyone stared at him expecting a response, at least they weren't killing him. 'The Luftwaffe is around and the destroyer l-left, some men still on the beach' He ducked his head with his heart in his throat, they were not gonna like that at all. Alex seemed to grumble and then told everyone to, in his words, 'sit the fuck down, looks like we're waiting for this shit out mates' and everything still. Alex grabbed him again and kept him in a hold and didn't intend to let go anytime soon. Gibson was moved to the most dangerous place to sit where the boards were split and next to the hatch and he and Alex the safest at the front of the boat. He shared a sad smile with Gibson as their second stake out began.

It was a few hours in before the tide came in enough to let them move, unfortunately, the Luftwaffe or foot soldiers, he was too tired to try and decipher it, came back for another trip. They heard the humming and Alex ordered one of the men to put his hand over the holes, see if it was safe. The man, scrawny much like him, peered through a hole as he was told. In maybe one second his mouth was shot off. He scrambled back and wailed, Tommy yelped and hid in Alex's chest like the disgrace he was, only peeping. His jaw was hanging off slack raw flesh hanging his jaw together, pink stained red, the blood gushing from his face, one eye rolled back from shock and teeth scattered on the floor. Two men went forward and covered his face to stop him screaming, he couldn't keep looking. He was sure he was going to be sick. He returned to hiding in Alex's chest, appearances be damned. More shots followed and it was obvious they needed to move.

Everyone hoisted themselves up and moved their weight as the fisherman told them to. Left to right, right to left. The boat wailed and shifted before gathering enough momentum to begin moving out towards the sea. Finally. But the bullet holes increased and everyone went to cover them with their hands, back, legs, anything. The boat started moving and the shooting stopped. Luckily. They began sailing when they realized they were not good enough to hold the water out, it became clear that they were going to sink. Again. With a harrowing sigh, he moved to open the hatch, Alex following behind him. Soon they were out on the deck and some of the men followed. It took him some time to notice Gibson hadn't followed them out as the below deck rushed with water. He was bloody stuck inside!

'Shit, Alex help me' 'With what-' 'Getting Gibson! move!'

'wait for the Frog!? that's not-' 'A-Alex please, just t-this once for the love of your ego' His voice cracked and his eyes watered. He will not cry. He will not cry here.

'Alright you stay here and grab my leg, I'll get the Frog' wait what? He followed orders anyway and grabbed Alex by the leg and braced himself against the hatch door. Gibson must have been close enough as Alex managed to pull him out with sheer force, God he could be scary sometimes, and the three were out and breathing. They jumped ship, which seemed to be a routine by now, and swam to the close shore. He hated this damn shore more than anything at this point. Gibson looked exhausted but managed to thank Alex with brittle English. Alex replied with a grumpy 'only time I save a fuckin' frog'. It turns out his boot was stuck in the boards and was now missing. Though he picked one off the shore anyway, also looked like the bodies had come back in, the main way to tell the tide had even moved.

Once again they were back to square one, but without a Mole to dock at. It seemed everyone was of the same mind though and once the tide went out they moved all the trucks and cars into long lines and ports, an attempt to dock easier. It seemed to work and they were grounded with rope and ties. There was still some of the Mole left but not a lot. So instead of two or three ships docking it could probably only take one. The Luftwaffe would need a break soon, they couldn't keep this barrage up. Hopefully anyway. He spotted the captain and another man from all the other times and decided he wanted a word with the God damn man.

He rose to his feet and began stalking over, Alex and Roussel quick to follow trying to beckon him to slow down and explain what he was doing. He had Tunnel vision as he moved closer to the mole. The sand was much murkier and stained than when he arrived and he felt weak in the knees as he dodged all the dead men. By the time he was the Mole he was furious and about to have an emotional breakdown, not manly at all Thomas. He turned around and began to stalk up the remainder of the white fenced walkway, fuming when he halted. The captain noticed him and he panicked and he flailed his arms about frantically with teary eyes. This was not getting him anywhere he screamed, in his head, 'we'll be waiting here till we God damn die at this rate eejits!'. Looking at the man one last time through his tears, (when had he started crying?) he swivelled and pushed past Alex and Gibson, away from the God forsaken Mole and its occupants. He'd had enough. He heard Gibson shout and chase for him and Alex whispering 'Jesus Freckles' before he broke out into a run. They probably think he's a complete fool now. He sunk down into their little cave from before, let the seaweed crawl at him. Curling up into a ball with his dirty and soggy trench coat surrounding him as he sat and cried. Tired of everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( just because it's update day doesn't mean it just has to be one ;)))) expect maybe some more today idk :P )


	8. Chapter 8: The White Cliffs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pure white innocence

He stayed like that for awhile, crying away. It was such a baby thing to do, something his father or sister used to nag at him for. Whether it be he fell over and scraped his knee, dropped the juice jug, got pushed over or called names he always cried. Which always made things worse though this time he felt it was warranted that he could cry. He heard footsteps coming into the cave and someone sitting down next to him making him cringe into himself. Someone to laugh at him was the last thing he needed. He sniffled as a voice spoke up,

'Gibson was too chicken to come in so he's outside, stupid frog thinks you're scary when you're crying Freckles' he flinched and turned to peer through his soggy bangs at Alex who turned and gave him one of those stupid grins of his. He had all the urge to tell him to go away or to leave him alone but it was more dangerous out there.

'H-he can come in. It's dangerous out...there' what he didn't expect was the wholehearted laugh from Alex as he shouted Gibson in. He looked like a stupid, scared mess while Gibson walked in looking all handsome, not his words he swears, despite being the most injured of the three. His face heated and he ducked into his little ball again.

'Look you Frog! you've scared 'im again!' Alex exclaimed as Gibson moved to sit in front of him. He gently touched his arms and slowly pushed them to his sides while smiling. Then saying things he couldn't grasp in French causing him to smile slightly, he didn't really know why, and Alex to gawk out 'Gods he's speaking French again! Eejits the both of you!' and laughing as he left the cave to stand outside. Gibson continued to what he thought was encouraging him in the dark and sea coated cave before he uncurled and was laughing away with him. Wiping his eyes Gibson held his hand out the cave, meeting a happy Alex.

'Ready? the ship is docked 'nd the tide is just right, this time I'm sure we'll get out. The freakin' frog can come too since he makes you happy or somethin' and to his surprise, he saw some ships docked at the make shift 'Automobile moles' as he called them. The tide did indeed look right and the sun was high in the sky. He stood with his eyes closed and let the sunshine hit his face for a few minutes before spontaneously giggling with the other two laughing along with him. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad this time around.

They briskly made their way up and boarded, to the same Jam and toast that made him happy and life jackets. Once the Destroyer was fully packed they immediately set off for home. Everyone looked gaunt and exhausted and it made Tommy nervous and so he stood close to Gibson and Alex, nestled between the two. This time there was much less chatter, no stories of home and family or games or smashed jam jars, they just stood. Waiting. They went up to the deck since Gibson seemed nervous and they might have a round two with getting stuck inside and once they were out it was beautiful. The large open sea a glorious turquoise that shimmered with the light of the sun. There were other boats also taking the men home and smaller ships appearing too! they were tiny little fishing boats with men and women manning them, As they passed the men gave huge rounds of applause uplifting the atmosphere some more. If you looked closely, which Tommy did by practically hanging over the railing, you could see shoals of fishes flashing silver and the occasional orange float, a striking contrast to the blue depths. Gibson had to pull him up before he fell over board, chuckling at his curiosity.

It was a few hours and they were nearing the other 'little ships', is what he heard people call them, that were waiting to pick any people who fell in or if a ship sunk when it all slipped into chaos. There was that tale telling hum he'd heard like a broken record before he was clutching Gibson like a large, over sized stuffed animal with him hushing him with more soft French and rubbing his shoulder. Stukas swooped in from behind them and they were sure this was it. Their boat would sink again and this time they couldn't get back to shore, they were too far out. Everyone waited with bated breath and some people braced themselves when they suddenly heard the welcoming roar of home.

everyone whipped their heads around and they saw three Spitfires rumble over head gaining such an applause and cheer from the boat. They flew over already diving out of formation into a way they could dog fight the Stukas off. Their tendrils of smoke like silver shining in the sky. They might just make this one. It was a tense scene as one took on the other. Swerving around trying to avoid the boats with men and women amongst them. They managed to get one plane down and then another, there was only about 3 left. One of the Spitfires went down and crashed the into the water and combusting as it skidded along making him flinch. Grim. Some of the ships nearby were trying to move waters but were shot down, yet they had to be the biggest target here though. Another Spitfire went down and it was two against one. The last Spitfire reared a Stuka off to fight him away from the boats but that left the other one to do as it pleased. It roared over shooting down the boat and below it. Shit. It seemed to miss but the off shots sent a bullet skimming his shoulder and into the limbs and hearts of other men. Gibson let go slightly startled by his quiet howl of pain.

His knees went weak as he fell to the boat deck, hand on his shoulder. Smeared dark maroon in pain. Alex was on full alert and so was Roussel as he started shaking and getting teary eyed. The pain was like tremors through his skin, rushing him with adrenaline. Alex bolted and he didn't know why as Gibson moved down to remove his clothing. Everything around the tips of his eyes was nothingness and anything through his ears was just noise. He turned his head frantically, the pain making him hunch over further. Must Alex have returned and set a first aid kit? yeah, first aid kit by Gibson's side as he ripped it open to get the equipment within. He realized he was such a big baby in comparison to others like Gibson when the wound wasn't even as big, a small tear from the bullet, on his shoulder's side. They patched it up and cleaned it while Alex handed him some water. Where he had gotten it in the chaos was beyond him. After quickly bandaging the wound they put his clothes back on and helped him shift up on to his feet. He tensed but the adrenaline seemed to make the pain transparent as he whispered a small 'I'm fine' before the plane roared over for round two shortly after. Again shooting but it seemed that it hit its target this time as the boat shifted weight as the gas hissed and the tanks burst. Oh shit. The sea waters beneath them began turning black and bubbling. Oil. Gibson hauled him to his side and hollered Alex over. They were jumping ship. Into Oil.

They made a resounding sloshing sound as they entered the sea, water once again flooding his ears and some of his lungs. He wanted to spit it out but resisted the urge. He felt someone, Gibson? Grab him and they resurfaced to breathe. Once. Twice. Then they swam under. If they could reach the other boats they'd be safe. He kept his eyes straight but flinched as the water above and mostly behind them him turned orange. The boat's embers had finally lit the oil on top of them. It had gone up in flames. He turned his head as Gibson guided them to the nearest safe boat, as he saw burnt and charred bodies with sunken faces dropping to the depths below. His lungs were getting tighter as Gibson pulled him up, Alex following them into the arms of a dusty-blonde man who looked about his age. A dark look on his face. He pulled them on handing them life jackets and moving them onto the ship. He spluttered and held onto Gibson as Alex surveyed the boat. they were pushed to the side as more men got on. There was only a few left and as they grabbed them he heard the dusty- blonde shout 'The Oil! Dad move it!' as they hastily reversed away as it was engulfed in angry spitting flames.

He knew the war was indeed hellish, and Dunkirk was God damn good proof of that, he was still shaking as everyone was wrapped in blankets and still covered in dirt and black oil. His ears felt like they had a permanent ring to them and his head and shoulder ached. Alex went down with some of the other men and he stayed up with Gibson in the fresh air. He didn't think he could take being below deck again for a while. There was no doubt they were all different from when they'd been flush faced and bright eyed when being deployed. Now everyone just looked so broken, shaking, shouting or just staring blankly into nothingness. Exhausted and hungry he turned his head and noticed a very welcoming sight.

The White Cliffs of Dover Glistening ahead of them.

What a wonderful welcome home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (AN - ok so today there's gonna be 4 updates ( next four) they were irritating me in my drafts so I've thrown 'em out here :'D, thanks for reading this far in! xx)


	9. Chapter 9: The damage had begun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pain, the image of Agony

This Hubert stayed in the bedding area and seemed to have calmed down. They were stalling the boat for a while, wanting to pick up any survivors as they went. The Spitfires had been a welcoming sight and they seemed to be just ahead of them. Along the way, He had made small talk with his dad, looked after the Tiller and watched over George.

He had never seen War up close, they kept to themselves with their fishing, providing food. But it seemed that keeping that naivety wouldn't last very long. The ocean looked darker out here than back home, he didn't really want to know why. The wrecks had been half a bloody waking call, the way they'd been torn up or sunken made him shiver. Out here they were just tools, then again the men were probably just as much as tools as the ships they boarded and the rifles they carried. If Hubert was like the rest of the men then he didn't want to see these other men, boys his age and slightly older. He'd heard Hubert whispering about blood and ringing, how it was going to engulf them all. He heard him whisper names as he sobbed, most likely his dead comrades. He'd looked so shocked when they told him their names, was it such a surprise to get someone's name out here? Back home it was common place. He'd heard him go on a tangent about the beaches drenched in blood and gunfire, unforgiving and relentless. He must have been in the thick of it and gotten out first, watching everyone around him perish.

The sky had opened up from dull and dreary clouds to some speckles of sunlight reaching out into beams, making the ocean light up. He knew the risks of having a boat under fire, The fuel was highly flammable and the oil was the best insulator and would happily sit on top of water since it wasn't as dense. You had men packed and a very slow vessel. Large targets in an open field if you asked Peter. He knew that he and George would eventually be enlisted if the war carried on, but for now, they were volunteering. He felt like years were passing as they slowly made their way, letting the conflict come to them in sense. Guess they were just bloody cowards like that. He had a feeling if the politicians put themselves in the soldiers position the whole damn thing would be called off before they were horrifically murdered something horrid.

The whole thing looked silly, they were silly fools following orders from people who were, to be frank, not experienced enough in pain to care. They continued in silence for a while, just hoping they didn't die along the way. His dad had the steering under control and they were sailing at a moderate pace, the sun had come out, even more, making the boat shine brightly like some crystal in the middle of blue silk. He heard a commotion going on in the standing shelter and saw that Hubert was making shouts and barks. God damn it. He left the Tiller in position so they could keep going forward and walked in to see Dad, George and Hubert arguing over the wheel.

'We need to turn this bloody ship around! I cannot go back to that hell! you cannot go to that hell! You're civilians God damn it!' The curse continued until he decided to pull his dad off the wheel into the back of the shelter and tried to take control. It happened so rapidly, it was all fine then everything went wrong. Hubert grabbed the wheel to turn them around and Peter stepped forward to get him off since he was the only one here that could match him in strength. Unfortunately, George thought he could too and tackled Hubert. Whether the Shell Shock got him or he is truly a bastard Peter will never know, but he threw George into the wheel and down the stairs, a crack as he went. Fuck. Peter grabbed him and hauled him out on deck with a grunt and grabbed his dad and pulled him onto the wheel while he ran to get George. sweet, innocent George. He was about done with this jackass' shit and barked at him to sit down.

He went down the stairs and saw George crumpled with a trail of dark maroon down the stairs. Oh no. He lurched forwards and picked him up, bringing him into the below deck in his arms. The blood was pooling around his arm and George's head and he lowered him down. Grabbing some towels he wrapped George's head up as much as possible. He hit one side of his head, cutting into the skull slightly. It didn't look deadly but if it continued. Peter feared the worst. With a twist in his gut he applied some bandages they brought with them and gave him a pillow out of towels. He tried to give him some tea but George was in and out of consciousness horribly. he laid him on some of the seats other men be damned and watched him. His breathing had slowed slightly but he was still looking alright. he had rolled his sleeves up to tend to him, his fore arms coloured red as he did so. He sat and took a deep breath. Why couldn't he have fallen? or Hubert? anyone but his closest and childhood friend how he admittedly had feelings he certainly shouldn't have feelings for. Those kinds of Feelings should be for a bird, a special lady. Certainly not George, but he couldn't help the unnatural pool of that special something in his gut.

He turned to George and tried to talk to him, comfort is what he needed.

'Hey Georgie, you'll be fine, we'll get out of here and get home. be safe and-'

'N-no' What? George shifted and moved slightly, dim eyes peering at him 'I-I can't Pete'

'What do you mean? of course, you can! you're basically part of the Dawson family and never ever back-'

'I- I can't see...' Again, what?

'I'm blind Pete'

His blood ran cold and he turned to look at him again. His eyes were dilating rapidly and the irises were dulled and he was squinting passed him. He really couldn't see. That was a fisherman's worst nightmare and now he had to let George go through it. Not by himself if he could help it. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he looked at the damage that had been done and laid a strong hand on George's softer one.

'well alright, don't worry we won't leave you or anything, you could regain it back. But you need to heal. You'll be fine but I need you to stay and be safe while we get the men, Ok?

'But-' He started lifting himself up to go help his dad when he felt George pull him down quickly and with a decent strength, he wasn't prepared for. He braced himself on the wall and bench not wanting to hurt George further. Realising he was inches from George's face, and plush lips which he definitely did not notice, he tried to back away. But George pulled him close and refused to move. He must have thought they weren't face to face and pulled himself up when their lips met. You have got to be kidding. He decided to let it happen anyway and slightly deepened the soft kiss before backing away with stars in his eyes. He laid George down gently and he was pulling back with a flushed face. There's no way George meant any of that anyway? You do that sort of thing with women, not other lads but he didn't have time to ask as George was lulled to sleep. Yet he still let the butterflies in his stomach run free as he made his way upstairs.

His dad was there with a concerned look, 'It's bad Dad, real bad. can you try to keep it steady' ' Of course Pete' Hubert decided to re-emerge and Peter wanted to sock him in his stupid fucking jaw.

'Is - Is the, uh, Boy- young boy, Ok?' Great he's now a concerned fucking jackass. He once again swallowed the lump in his throat and replied 'Yeah' pausing 'Yeah. He'll be fine' He ushered the guy into the bedding and once again had the decision of locking the door. He pulled the small lock tight without hesitating and walked off. He couldn't risk that again, not with his dad. When he came back up his dad looked proud told him he did well not to hurt the lad's mind further. Well, he still wanted to sock him in the jaw as he returned to the Tiller. They had men to rescue and a wounded on board. They needed to be quick.

The Spitfires, as Dad called them, had been dog fighting the other planes the whole time and were doing a damn good job of it. At least from Peter's perspective. However, one of the planes had crashed and combusted and it seems the other one had drifted down. With the possibility that he could be still alive, they turned to starboard to go see if they could rescue him. It was only a matter of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (AN - I'm so sorry Georgie! ;-; , again no one dies (yet :) but it won't be without consequence, also the first kiss in there ;) )


	10. Chapter 10: Bringing them home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home.

They sailed up to the wreck and Peter clambered along the plane wing. The thing was filling up with water and the pilot was trying to smash the window. He needed to get the damn thing pulled back. He hollered his dad to pass him his walking stick and jammed the damn thing into the sliding door, startling the man underneath. he pulled it back causing a crack to embellish itself along the old carved stick and the glass to splinter. A little more. using his weight he managed to haul the door back enough to help pull the man out. When both were out they launched themselves onto the side of the boat as the plane sunk to the deep depths. He helped pull the blonde man to the deck and gave him a life jacket much like with Hubert. Everyone took a deep breath and he turned towards the man. 'Name's Peter, that's my Dad' lurching his thumb behind him to signal his father 'my friend is injured downstairs so be careful and we have another' pausing again 'Soldier in the bedding, he's uh, not quite stable so also be careful with him mate' the man nodded along replying with 'call me Collins, thanks for that. By the way' he nodded and stood up, Collins following. Telling him they had tea he asked his dad where to next but it didn't seem he'd need an answer as a Destroyer came into view. The same destroyer that was being attacked by a fighter in the sky.

They arched Moonstone back and began moving towards the warship in view. Things weren't looking pretty. His dad mentioned it was about to get chaotic and to still the boat. They waited and hauled the life jackets out. Waiting. The plane tried to shoot the boat down a few times, the men like speckles of deep green amongst the ship. There was so many on the outside let alone inside. The ship eventually hissed and began sinking, the immediate action was for the men to start jumping ship. Peter and his Dad moved closer before halting and waiting for men to swim to them. The water around the ship started turning a sickly black. Oil. he told his Dad and started hollering the men over. As they clambered on covered in that sickly black like an infestation of parasites on their skin. He helped them up and down telling them to grab life jackets and take up as less space as possible. As the men scurried on his bloodied hands got covered in the same sickly black and he noticed the hot embers in the ship. They needed to hurry.

'Come on then! Easy does it! we'll take as many as we can!' he helped as many as he could, including a freckled boy with baby blues, one with bright emeralds and the other with deep hazels, they seemed to have the most character out of the lot. He helped the last two on before seeing the inferno behind them, 'The Oil! Dad move it!' and they were off. The sharp rumble of the engine and they powered out of there, towards the one thing he'd been dying to see,

The White Cliffs of Dover, they were finally bringing them home.

He manoeuvred around the men and downstairs to check on George and saw them crowding round him. 'Oi! he's injured don't you dare move him!' he moved closer as the emerald greens from earlier turned, 'Mate I think you need to be quick wit' this one, breathin' shallow and all' he moved closer to check. He wasn't wrong, George was paler and his breathing was thinner than before. He had to pull through. He just had to.

'Well be bloody careful then!' and he stalked back up to meet with his Dad.

He hadn't seen the Collins chap or Hubert and hoped we wouldn't have to, that's extra things to keep track on. The men were mostly shaking, cold, hungry you name it. They had every right to be. And while they didn't want a commotion on the way back it seemed they might be having one. The baby blues and freckles from earlier were stood quite protectively in front of deep hazel and everyone seemed to be glaring with accusing voices. He stood against the standing shelter, waiting for a large fight to kick off. If they fell over board it was their own bloody fault. He decided to watch over so they didn't damage Moonstone or hurt each anyone too badly. The conversation was quite uncomfortable and made him uneasy.

'You brought a Frog on board?! what are you a spy!?' 'what- no. Of course not mate! relax please, there's no need-'

'We can't bring a bloody deserting frog back, he got us in this shit hole in the first place!' 'you know that's not true, he's hurting just like us-' 'Thank God, let him feel pain! Push him over, grab Freckles' and just like that shit went downhill like a firestorm. They grabbed the small freckled kid and held him to the mast and two of them grabbed the hazel eyes and shoved his head into the water trying to drown him. Freckles were crying out for them to stop and for an 'Alex'. He stepped up to intervene but stomping boots beat him to it. He didn't know who it was since he could only see wet brown locks, but they were clearly not messing around. He pulled the Hazel eyes, Gibson I think he was called by freckles, out of the water and grabbed the two trying to drown them. Smashing their heads together with a resounding thud and dropping them over board without a care in the world. Then he swivelled around on his heel, Ah. Emerald eyes. And grabbed the one holding freckles down and threw him over his shoulder, somehow, and got him in a head lock. He was not fucking around.

'Listen up pricks,' he was basically spitting venom at them 'I don't care about you right now, we've all been through the same shit'. he moved to point at the Gibson chap, 'He's french, so what? I 'ad the same trouble trying to accept him but the eejit has saved mine and Freckles' asses multiple times, alri't? He's been throug' hell with us an' the last shit we need is you, morons, causing a ruckus like this. An' if you pull any more shit to hurt anyone else on this boat you'll end up like those rats' and with a pointed finger to the guys left behind in the sea, his Dad had been pulling them back aboard with a grimace. And with that, he dropped the guy in the head lock, pulled freckles and this Gibson with him downstairs, with a curt nod in Peters direction. What a guy.

They continued their sail through now mostly safe waters, till they could reach the docks of Dover's port. He noticed a lot of the blokes looked like ghosts, not wavering or talking. Silently broken. The few crying or shouting. More whispers of blood and gun fire. Peter quickly decided he hated War. It looked like absolute hell. The rest of the trip was mostly uneventful but when pulling them in they go applauded by other men and women standing. Home. They had finally brought some of them home. They got most of them off the boat after he unlocked the other door earlier, not seeing the pilot or Hubert since they probably left already, and pushed them along to get food and into the stations, they needed to be sorted out by train. He went down to pull George out and found those three there. The freckles with George in his lap, smoothing his hair down and bracing his neck in his arms and the other two squatted next to him. When he came down the other two got up and left with a nod. Told freckles to meet him outside. He walked over and the bloke seemed to get flustered.

'Ah- Sorry mate! I shouldn't have butted in but I just, well, saw him and decided he'd be safer if someone could hold him still so he, uh, doesn't get injured further. Sorry this was completely out of order, I shouldn't have, God I'm sorry mate I'll just-'

'Hey, Relax' the word made the other boy tense up, realizing he probably couldn't even if he tried after that ordeal.

'Thank you, I mean he's still alive because of you, seriously thank you. Peter, Peter Dawson' he held out his hand for a firm shake, 'Thomas, Thomas Benson. Just, uh call me Tommy'

He helped Peter shift George into his arms and then stood up, thanked him again and quickly scurried off. Odd to find such a nice lad like him and George in these kinds of things. For now, he hoped he could see them again at some point and thank them properly and scrambled out gently to get George to the hospital as soon as he could.

When there, the nurse was surprised that he was even breathing and they went along with treating him briskly. He wasn't allowed in the ward and had to wait outside but the doctor came out a few hours later to tell him what had happened. They had stitched the wound and reduced the swelling in his head, the skull had not been pierced so he would be Ok. However, he would need a month or so to recover and it was expected that he would be blind. It could be any kind, partial, completely or one eye, but the blow from the wheel to back of his head had damaged his eyes some. He would be dizzy and imbalanced until he was recovered and might not remember the boat ride in any detail. He was glad he would be Ok and left to help his dad pack up after paying the insurance, since George was a civilian, and left his address. Told to come back as much as he needed. The war had been, was being, hard on everyone so the hospital decided people could visit as much as they wanted while it was going on. He left heavy hearted, George might be scared by himself but he would visit daily until he was healed but at least he was alive and would be just as functional before but just more clumsy, pulling a short chuckle from his chapped lips he continued his way down to the docks. He'd go pick up Jasper later, for now, he had to help his dad.

They had finally come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (AN- I have no idea why this happened but yep, there we go. Next chappie is 'Gibson's POV. Fancy~ Xx)


	11. Chapter 11: Leaving France behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paris will burn.

The whole of Dunkerque had been a whirl. From breaking away from the resistance to fleeing to the beaches to meeting those baby blues, those beautiful baby blues, to nearly dying, he had gotten lost along the way. The smell of salt and the sea in his eyes to the blood of some one else or his own, he could never quite tell, on his face and the hollow sound of gunfire and bombs. Not to mention the infuriating language barrier he'd had to deal with the whole way. But not Baby blues, he had managed to communicate with him more than anyone else. Even though they both looked like fools moving their hands around to gesture. The constant fear of breathing too hard or being stuck underwater had followed him, like strained nightmares, across the channel. But baby blues, Little Lamb was alive and that was all that mattered. He would take on the whole damn German army if it meant his, not his, baby blues didn't have to go back there. But that was going to happen. Him, the Lamb and this un-named man with harsh Evergreen eyes always holding an accusing tone with him.

He was surprised he was still alive, he should've drowned. That's what frogs like him deserved, isn't it? The painful and searing feeling of the salt in his throat, eyes, ears as his lungs sloshed chock full of the direst cruelty. But the freckled Lamb thought differently. Gotten Evergreen to pull him out of one of those God forsaken wrecks. Kept him alive. So he did in turn. Guided him so his determined yet so very tired spark wouldn't go out. Even if he did. He had slouched and trekked along with them through the whole damn thing up to the small boat with the dirty blonde with the tight but polite smile with a small boy in a knitted vest on his mind. But to them, another body was another body and it had lost meaning. But if that sickly body had been baby blues, then he understood. Understood that anxiousness and fear.

He was surrounded by men, no- boys, not young, he had seen younger amongst the bodies, but still too young. Yet this war had moulded them, shaken them and removed almost all feeling from them. Leaving walking ghosts with tight smiles and sometimes cold frowns. They couldn't by mama's boy anymore, they didn't have the strength to cry. Sleeping was almost out the question for men, boys, like him. Even in sleep, you were fighting. Clinging nightmares and bullet holes and dead bodies, red sand and sinking ships. Harrowing screams and pleas most unable to escape the lips they came from. but Roussel had held on, for baby blues mostly, for himself to get out of that hellish scene. But he left his comrades, the Germans would burn Paris to the ground, burn all around them just for fun. He didn't want to think about it, yet let the guilt crawl up his throat and spine, consuming him. He'd saved some though, that counted? He didn't want to turn around, as if he would see his home reach out with a pale hand, shaking towards him, reaching for his stiff coat filled with salt water, wanting to wrench him back and scream at him. Wail at him. Howl at him. For all his wronging. So he didn't turn around. Kept his eyes on Little Lamb and Evergreen laughed genuine laughs with smiles which he didn't deserve when they talked and jostled with each other.

He knew. He knew he couldn't follow them. On that train. To a base for training. He had to turn around, embrace those wailing howls. He'd be found and cast away, left for dead. He didn't want to leave them, leave Little Lamb, but he had to make up his mind. He'd be asked questions he couldn't answer and be accused. He peered over at the soft freckled face, he looked happier. Still tired but more relaxed and just a little less tense. Good. Evergreen kept him occupied enough for him to slip into a crowd full of empty faces. Gaunt and following him from there. He pulled into a small alleyway and waited. No salt. No gunfire. No death. But he couldn't stay. He'd need a map, a small boat maybe, food. New clothes maybe? Every thought would flash back to small freckles and pastel blue and he ignored it. He stood there and waited. He would need the commotion to go down first. So he could grab what he needed and leave. Go back to France. Back to the shaking arms and help the resistance like he was supposed to.

He hadn't heard the footsteps behind him as he shifted through the back streets. Didn't hear the other stiff coat behind him in the wind. Or the shallow out of breath lungs breathing behind him. He didn't look behind him. Until the quietest but the loudest voice, he would ever hear in his mind, shaking the shackles of his soul, that he turned around. And soon he had a face full of raven locks, freckles and those same baby blues. He spoke exasperated in a language he wasn't familiar with. Picking out 'Hell' and 'going'. Words he'd picked up from the other men. He stayed locked in the big hug for who knows how long, breathing and seeping in every feeling, every touch. His, again not his, Lamb had the same idea and they stayed like that in some grunge filled back alley.

_'En quittant'_ the syllables were gruff and unused. He knew he wouldn't understand him but he tried to speak.

that was the wrong thing to say apparently as Tommy reeled back eyes darting for an answer, concern knitted in his brow. he paused and cocked his head as if he was trying to understand. 'quitting?'

the sound was soft and similar to what he had spoken so he guessed the words meant the same thing so he nodded slowly. He used his hands to motion a boat, the sea and the Eiffel tower. Lamb seemed to understand and shook his head.

He tried making bars out of his hand and pulled a thumb across his throat. Then he made a symbol of a flag and guns. Trying to say he would either be locked up, die and need to go back to the resistance.

He again shook his head violently and said something with his other name, 'Gibson', while miming a train? and a small house. He cocked his brow and looked at him with confusion. Baby Blues just sighed and motioned someone else, about his height and pointed at some dry grass, then to his eyes. Finishing with pointing at himself with a cocky grin. Ah, Evergreen. He nodded and watched further. He then pointed to his heart and again motioned a house and pulled a finger to his lips. Secrecy. Did they want to keep him secret? He motioned to himself and then put his own finger to his lips, Baby blues nodded happily and smiled. Well alright then. He pulled out his hand and they shook on an unspoken promise.

He sighed and decided now was better than ever, He grabbed Baby Blues' shoulders and pushed him into the nearest wall and slowed his hands as he worked down to his hips. He gasped but stayed silent. Expecting. To hell with it all, He used one hand to keep him flush against the wall and the other to cup his face dragging it upwards. They stared at each other silently before he went in, getting their dry lips to meet. He slipped his hand through the dirty and, so very, stiff and cold trench coat and under the thin summer shirt beneath. Anything to get them closer together. He got the Lamb to gasp and deepened the kiss. They wrestled around for a while before he pulled back. both heavily breathing and red in the face. He helped sort Baby Blues' Shirt and coat out before bringing them out the dingy alleyway.

He made some whining sounds as he spoke and his brow furrowed in concern. He silenced him again by bringing their chapped lips together. He gasped out an 'Oh,' that got him to stop fretting at least.

He motioned the secret and train again along with the house and smiled. He moved to bring him into a tentative hug which his, still not his yet, Lamb flinched before moving into. He motioned Evergreen again and pointed to his head. So he knew what to do then. He hummed in agreement before giving him a soft kiss on the forehead and bringing them out of the alley way and into the streets to catch up to Evergreen and the train feeling a large weight of his tired shoulders.

They caught up to a frustrated very Evergreen quite soon and he heckled them onto the train, grabbing them an empty compartment with him on one side and them on the other. Little Lamb grabbed the window seat and he the one next to him. Evergreen seemed to glare at him before having an animated conversation with Baby Blues. The train started, whistling, much like a hum. causing them to jump. Evergreen glared at the compartment door as Little Lamb curled into himself slightly. They all had the same quiet understanding. They weren't there anymore. They were in England, where they were safe for now.

The train journey began with what he thought light banter and small but genuine smiles and boisterous laughs. This felt much better despite being covered in tar and oil, dirt, blood and sweat and still wearing the same clothes from the beginning of this ordeal. But they were happier and to Roussel, that's all that mattered in that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (AN - En quittant - means like leaving, departure, it mayyyy be inaccurate - I apologise :P and also it's hard getting two basically 'mute' characters to converse, but they do it in their own cute way :'D Xx)


	12. Chapter 12: Ashford

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hole in the country.

After getting off the boat that had rescued them, relocating Gibson (along with the impromptu make out session which most certainly did not happen) and then finding Alex and boarding the train Tommy was exhausted. He had tried to make a plan with Gibson about getting them off the train before they were relocated. If the military or locals found out he was French they'd suspect him a spy and they'd send him off to a labour camp. And they could do nothing to save him. He'd have to have a conversation with Alex on what they were going to do.

Looking through the thick glass and at the rolling spurts of green and blue gave him some ease. They weren't going back, they were safe for now. However, whenever the train would lurch or squeal out smoke he couldn't help think it was the rigging of a boat or a Stuka overhead. Every large thud or noise would make him flinch, he was positive everyone was in a similar position and sleeping would be difficult. Easing himself into it and closing his tar covered eyes, he squirmed into the soft seat indulging in the pure softness of it. It wasn't long till he had drifted off.

The soft thundering of the train and Alex calling for him pulled him back awake. He opened his heavy eyelids and sat up, Gibson was giving him a soft smile as Alex began speaking.

'You 'wake freckles? We need ta talk about gettin' off the train if we want to keep the Frog secret' he gestured around him.

'First off, you know my name is Tommy, second off his name is Gibson not 'Frog' and' he was giving him a tired little smile 'I know we need to get off the train so how do we do it. We can't just throw ourselves out'

' Well, we're stoppin' at Ashford ta stock up on supplies. At least that's what the lady was sayin'. We would board back on but we're goin' to stay there. Find a way to survive on the streets for a few days'

He'd never been to Ashford but it didn't have a bad reputation and was just your average town. A great place to lay low and live for a while and recuperate.

'Alright, but we need medical attention, mostly for Gibson. We haven't treated either wound in a while' 'What!? I thought that's what you morons were doing back there'

'Well no, I lost Gibson in the crowd and-' He tried to forget the alleyway for this conversation 'and had to go find him and get to you before you boarded. Besides if we took either of us to a hospital they'd find he wasn't a Brit and then they'd have my records and we'd have to follow the train.'

'I can't believe either of you eejits. Alright, we'll need to find some'ne who can take care of ya and won't rat us out'.

The journey carried on in a comfortable silence with the occasional quip from Alex. They slowed to a steady and slow speed and there were some newspaper boys by the tracks counting the stock. Alex hung out the window and asked something and then was tossed a newspaper from the boys. He pulled himself back in and closed the window. He threw the newspaper onto the compartment table and looked at him. Tommy reached for the paper and Gibson peered over curiously,

'So what did you ask?'

'Just for a newspaper an' where we were. Sandling. Not too far off Ashford'

He glanced at the paper and his stomach churned at the heading and text.

June 1940. _'We never surrender'_ was the broad title, he decided to read some of it out loud as he went.

'We will go on to the end...we shall fight on the beaches...on the landing bays...in the fields...in the streets. We shall never surrender' Alex scoffed and Gibson was still as confused.

'Meanwhile, they held Calais steady pretty well; 4,000 of 'em. Rest's on other pages. Here that? We aren't even front page, We're jokes'

'I wouldn't say that. They just-' He flicked to Page 8 where it had the rest of Churchill's speech, 'The greatest military disaster in our long history'. was his quick reply.

'Tossers. So that's what we are then? Gods, At least it gave the people something to believe in again.'

'Yeah but they think it was just some damn miracle like us blokes didn't fight tooth and bones to get here Alex. Parliament is a load of sods'. He flicked through the rest, photos from the first boats coming home, their's was one of the last it seems. He glanced over the supplements before tossing the paper on the table and exhaling and pulling back into the seat.

'We better keep our god damn heads down when we're off this train'

'You're bloody right about that mate'.

The train had sped up and they would reach Ashford soon enough. Gibson had fallen asleep but was tossing and turning, they debated waking him up but decided he needed the energy. The green hills swirling by eventually broke off into farms and eventually the Station. They stayed put as everyone else got off the train.

'Come on, best we follow them a little longer ' Alex got up and out first, followed by Gibson and then Tommy. Getting off the train was refreshing as the warm air pulled at his skin. They moved in a line as people of the streets gathered with food and beers. Alex grabbed at least four and cackled away as he passed some over. they stood and downed them before laughing away and continuing on. They were given blankets by who he presumed was a blind man, as he reached out and pulled his hand over his face, and he was off. Alex glared at him as they turned out towards the streets. The locals had gathered and were shaking hands with the men and chatting away, stories of home and war. Juxtaposed gently. They sat on the curbs as people opened up their doors to let some men in, have a proper meal and clean up. They had one night before the train, they weren't catching, left.

'We can't join 'em can we freckles?'

'Again, it's Tommy and not if we want Gibson taken away' Alex frowned as he debated whether giving him up was a good idea and Tommy swatted his arm. They were still hungry, filthy and in need of sleep and medical care but they couldn't do what the others were doing. Alex stood up and went to talk to an elderly asking a few questions before he came back.

'There's an inn further down, we can stay there one night for free, get a meal and clean up. Your wounds will have to wait.'

Gibson looked lost as he replied a quiet 'I don't think Gibson's can' as he stood, pulling the confused French along. When they reached the inn it looked a little worn down but homey and it would be all they needed. Walking in the atmosphere was quiet, but if the sounds of groups coming in were anything to go by, it wouldn't be for long. They grabbed a room for four with the middle aged innkeeper with dark hair saying they could get another soldier in. It was a little worrying but Alex reassured him saying 'I'll sock 'im before he says anything'. The room was dingy and small, four thin mattresses for beds and thin blankets and a torn rug along with a small bathroom. Alex went in for a shower first knowing the other two would get blood everywhere. There was a small closet with some spare shirts and trousers, enough for the three of them. He laid them out on one of the beds and sat next to Gibson who immediately got closer. They sat there with their eyes closed listening to the bustle of the inn and the running water. Eventually, Alex came out in a towel and looked a lot better. The oil and dirt were gone and he looked quite fetching. There were some scabs that weren't visible earlier but all in all, he looked much healthier.

Tommy went in next. Peeling off his clothes and looking at the makeshift bandage that had been rushed around his shoulder. He decided to leave it until he could get proper assistance. The water was warm but welcoming and he watched the pool of water at the drain go black. He let it the warmth sink in and managed to wash most of it off as well as clean any other scabs he had harboured. He grabbed the only other towel left and got out of the bathroom. Gibson smiled at him and Alex was putting the spare clothes on with his back to them. He grabbed some of the spare clothes and began drying himself off. After putting the shirt one and moving the towel he felt his muscles finally relax more.

'I gave the coats to a maid downstairs, she'll get 'em cleaned up for us. She also said there's food downstairs and a 'welcome home' party of sorts. Just music and food I guess' He finished getting dressed and put his belt on,

'What about Gibson he can't clean up with that wound, he'll bleed out'

'We 'eed to find someone who can treat 'im who is more, sympathetic than most folk here' 'Alright, you go get some food and bring some back for Gibson and I'll go find someone'

He grabbed his boots and turned to motion to Gibson, He made an eating motion and pointed to his wound. He seemed to understand and nodded. Tommy was out the door first making his way downstairs with Alex behind him. He moved to the bar as Alex went to the lounge area where food was being served.

The bar was filled with other guests and soldier boys. An older man sat at the piano playing soft tunes and drinks were being served. The sounds were all mingled together and filled with clanking and some happy shouting. His gut coiled as he stilled himself. He wasn't there anymore. Moving to the bar he ordered a pint and looked around. He couldn't really see anyone who could be helpful except the man at the piano, he must be a local bloke and will know a lot of people, a combat medic wearing his red cross with pride. He could help but they would have to keep Gibson's origins a secret and he might want the records. He could help Tommy though. He kept looking through the crowds, noticing an elderly lady in a rocking chair who appeared to be sleeping. She had grey hair in a bun and a blanket over her. Appearing to be undisturbed by the ruckus around her.

He moved to sit down and cradled his drink, it was rather bitter but kept him grounded either way. The old clock on one of the walls read that it was a quarter to ten. That late huh? He peered over at the stair case and saw Alex going up with some plates in hand. At least Gibson would be fed. As the night went on steadily he tried talking to the combat medic. Approaching the group he was in he pulled the bloke aside who quickly tensed.

'What do you think of people who aren't British?' He looked caught off guard, 'Well, uh, Spies. I'd have to say the lot of 'em are unwanted. 'Just wondering but, would you treat one?' He looked flustered at the rather ethical question, brown eyes darting around. 'No, unless I had to. They're on their own'. Shit. Well, he was out for Gibson's wound. 'Well, you wouldn't happen to have any equipment with you? I have a bullet wound that needs treating. And no records.'

'Yeah. Yeah sure mate I'll get some from the train, meet me outside'. His moral compass must have shifted and he was off. He sat on the porch area outside and waited. The man returned with a supply bag and they moved into an alleyway. He peeled off his shirt and moved so he could get at the wound. Pulling of the bandage was indeed very fucking painful. The oozing scab was pulled off slowly with the dirty bandage and the wound was yellow in some areas and dripping red. The man scoffed and pulled out tweezers, and iodine. Pulling out some of the dirt and fabric stuck in there as Tommy gritted his teeth and pouring it in Iodine. He then put a white gauze over it and then bandaged it. Cleaning his tools up he passed him some extra equipment. 'Here for when you need to rebandage it and clean it. It should take a few weeks to heal, Isn't that big but will be a little painful' and was he walked back inside the Inn. Standing up Tommy re-entered with a supply bag around his good shoulder. One down, one to go.

Moving to go back upstairs he passed the elderly lady. She kicked his foot causing him to almost trip on his foot and gawk out. His cheeks tinted cerise as he turned to look at her accusingly. 'What-what was that for?!' 'you talking about foreigners boy?' He looked at her with a confused face 'Earlier! To that medic over there, you carrying someone suspicious?!' oh shit.

'No!? look I-Well, He isn't' 'It's alright, he wounded boy? Take me to the fella. I used to be a qualified nurse you know. I can help you. Free of charge' She winked and stood up, cane in hand. He went back up to the room and she followed behind until he got to their room, No.38, and opened it to let her in.

'Hey, guys I brought someone who can help!' He put one foot in and he heard a crackle beneath him and his boots causing him to wince and still. Looking down he took in the mass amounts of broken glass littered on the floor.

'G-guys?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (AN- the next chapters will be in bulk so I won't put other ANs in, I want to get this mostly done before I start college and realised it might be longer than i first expected :, week and a bit so there will be multiple chapters updated at the same time:'DD for all you lovelies~)


	13. Chapter 13: The Rook's Inn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crooked like the crows above them.

The glass cracked beneath his feet as he turned to the elderly woman behind him, 'Ma'am stay here, I'll go in' She scoffed, rude, and he walked in. He dropped the supply bag by the door and turned around. There was an empty plate that had been smashed and the glass coming from beer glasses. When they had grabbed them he doesn't know. Stepping into the room fully he looked around. Immediately spotting Gibson holding a slightly thrashing Alex in his arms on the floor by the bed. He had an elongated cut down the side of his face by his eye and Alex's hands were smeared with blood. The woman stepped in behind him as he rushed over, He took Alex out of his arms and he ungracefully tumbled to the ground with Alex crumpled in his arms. He was murmuring and thrashing occasionally. He knew exactly what this was. The woman moved so they could all see her and muttered 'That's a Shell Shock attack, that's what that is' he whipped his head around and glared. 'You think I don't know what this is?!' She gave him a judging look as he turned to his curled up mate.

'Alex? Al, can you hear me? It's me, Tommy. Gibson is here and a lovely old lady. You're safe, We're safe' He thrashed some more calling out typical shouts from the war and rushed his hands over his ears. 'Come on big guy, it's alright. You're safe. No Bombs, No guns, No Germans. We're in Ashford, In an Inn' The woman snarked a 'The Rook's Inn, actually' Behind him.

'Not important lady' was said under his breathe.

He moved Alex to settle on one of the Mattresses and held him down as he sat next to him. His pupils were dilated and bloodshot, he'd been crying, and his body occasionally twitched. He took his hands off slowly and combed his finger through his hair, mimicking a mother. Alex moved into the touch as he continued. He whispered some reassuring words and tried lulling him to sleep. Humming some lullabies his sister used to use on him when he was younger. His erratic breathing slowed as the humming was all that could be heard. Eventually, his eyes closed and he fell into a dreamless sleep. He moved away and turned to the others.

'You'd do well to be in a medical ward young man, that was impressive. Even I can't bring men like him back from those kinds of horrors. Colour me proud' 'T-thanks' and she laughed softly. 'Right, well who's the injured one?' Gibson grunted as he shifted and placed a hand over his face where the deep cut was. 'Well alright, let me work then. Come on you, into the bathroom. An' you boy, clean this mess up and bring me that supply bag' she moved them into the bathroom as he grabbed the bag and handed it to them. Turning around so he couldn't see and began picking up the glass. He heard Gibson grunting and hissing in the bathroom with the lady giving him witty remarks he couldn't understand.

After everything was cleaned up and he tucked Alex in better and they came out the bathroom. Gibson was finally cleaned and looked much healthier, his skin a brighter pink, and had a proper bandage around his shoulder and lower back as well as a large gauze over the left side of his face. His eyes had more colour and he looked more lively. The woman stepped out and placed the bag down as Gibson got into the other spare clothes.

'I did what I could, It'll heal nasty but that's one tough bloke I tell ya. You best keep his secret, or you'll be found out. You'll need more supplies too, for him and you' 'what? how did you-?'

' It's the way you hunch boy, a bullet wound no? You'll heal well'

She moved to the door and Tommy went to see her out. he opened the door and asked if she needed help getting home.

'Don't worry about it dear, my name is Heidi. I live at No.20 down the lane two turns and up the dirt road, Come visit if you ever have the time'. And she was out and gone into the hustle of downstairs. He closed the door and turned to meet Gibson who gave him a quick kiss. Smiling he ushered him to bed next to Alex. His stomach rumbled and he realised he had yet to even eat. He mimed food to Gibson and made his way downstairs. Grabbing some left overs he quickly wolfed it down with some water and went back through into the hallway. The innkeeper noticed him and shouted him over. He stilled and turned around and approached them. Back into the loud noises.

'I told you about that fourth bed right? Well, I got a bloke about your age, needs a bed for the night. You'll take him yeah?' He was slightly shouting over the noise and Tommy just nodded along. 'Good! Oi! Eric get over here!' He turned his head to see a bloke about Alex's height, so still taller than him, with light brown eyes and easy frame and dusty brown hair. He came over with a polite smile on his face. He turned to Tommy and held out his hand, 'Eric, Eric Richardson. A pleasure to meet you!' he was all easy smiles and soft jaw lines. He shook it and replied 'Thomas, Thomas Benson, Just call me Tommy. There are two others, you alright with that?'

'Yeah I just need a bed to sleep in' and he chuckled as Tommy led him upstairs.

'Age?' 'twenty-three, you?'

'twenty' 'oh to be young again!' He exclaimed as he grabbed him at the top of the stairs and twirled him around. What the? They both began laughing as he swatted him and took him to the room. Alex was sleeping softly and it looked like Gibson was too but Tommy knew better at this point.

'Here, take a bed. We'll wake you for breakfast, you look rather tired' 'Rightly so! Well, I'll be taking to bed for the night. Good night'

'Night' and Eric was settled in. He looked over at Gibson and smiled, he smiled back before turning over and trying to sleep. He slipped into the last bed and tried to sleep. Eventually, after some tossing and turning, he was lulled to a deep sleep.

He was woken up the next morning by Gibson and he could hear water running. They had all tossed and turned that night, harbouring similar nightmares. He sat up and noticed Eric still in bed. So Alex must be in the bathroom. Gibson look refreshed so he's probably been to the bathroom already. Alex came out and he looked sullen. He also looked regretful, probably from last night. He moved into the small room and gave him a small wave before flopping onto a bed. He moved to wake Eric up who was reluctant but eventually caved and sat up as Tommy went to wash up. He returned and let Eric have the bathroom and sat on the bed opposite to Alex with Gibson next to him.

'Who's he then?' 'Eric, Innkeeper gave him to us last night to sleep, why?'

'Looks like a right tosser' 'Alex!'

'It's true though!' and just like that, they were laughing like school girls again.

'Do you want to talk. Talk about last night?' Alex ducked his head and murmured something.

'Not really but I will anyway. Owe you that much, I don't remember all of it. Just freakin' out, some children set off some firecrackers down the lane. Then. Then I saw black and heard gunfire. Frog tried to help I think, Kept me stable on the bed after I had-' he paused and swallowed thickly 'had thrown bottles at the wall and the plate at his face. I thought he was, someone he isn't. The rest was just a nightmare we all know. You got me to sleep though? Didn't you? I heard you humming and a woman? Then just darkness'.

'Yeah. Yeah, I did, my sister used to do a similar thing when I was younger. The lady came to look after our wounds. Heidi, she told me her address in case we needed something. Lovely old woman' Eric returned and looked at them

'What are you talking about?' he gasped 'Having a secret coup without me!?' laughing as Alex groaned.

'The train will be leaving soon after breakfast, you coming?' He had checked the clock and looked at them expectingly.

'Sure mate, just, we'll meet you there' It seemed to appease him as he grabbed his coat and boots and shuffled out the door humming happily as he went. Alex sneered at the closing door.

' _Absolute_ tosser'

Tommy threw a pillow at him.

They got everything gathered after the Innkeeper knocked on their door telling them to start moving and went to grab their coats from the maid. They were clean and smelled of soap, no longer of blood and dirt. Though the faint smell of salt remained. After a good English breakfast, which he missed dearly, and thanking the Innkeeper they left out the door and looked out at the warm sun beating down on them. The street was fairly empty aside from a few people walking up and the train could be seen being boarded.

They turned in the other direction.


	14. Chapter 14: The Streets of Ashford

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The alleyway they call home for a night.

The three moved into the larger streets as it began to buzz with happy excitement. The scenery was jarring in comparison to what they left behind. A clear blue sky with chemical swirls of white clouds and a sun carrying itself along. Long lines of clothing pulled out among the houses. The splashes of colour among the sun-glazed walls of humble abodes. Children on their way to school, little red uniforms and grey skirts and trousers dancing as they ran. People on their way to work to pull their weight, hammers and groceries amongst other things in hand. The pathway was clean of debris and led them down into normality. Though he suspected they could ever go back to being normal.

'Bloody 'ell. I missed this' Alex exclaimed as he looked over and nodded.

'Tell me about it' Gibson appeared to be taking it in just as much, a small smile on his face.

They continued walking down the street and moved into what was probably the main street if all the hustle and bustle were anything to go by. There appeared to be a market up ahead, little red and blue bunting shimmering in the light. Further down, the train station was visible from the street they passed. Alex noticed him peering,

'Last chance freckles, the train 'ill be leavin' soon'

'We can't, we need to stay here' and just like that the red locomotive set off into the distance, trailing white tendrils of smoke along.

Though the street was busy he didn't feel too on edge, the people were all dressed differently and smiling as they went, there were no immediate sounds or threats around them. They should be safe. They stood by one of the fenced gardens and relaxed into the sun beams. Soaking up the heat. It was mid-morning and things were clearing up, but the street was still relatively busy. Alex's stomach gurgled as he groaned,

'I'll be needing somethin' to eat soon or I might die' Tommy scoffed as he turned to look at him.

'Stop being so melodramatic you just had breakfast. We don't even have a single penny anyway so we couldn't get food even if we wanted to' Alex groaned harder, lolling his head back against the large picket fence.

'So, we need to go find some jobs to do, they won't question us too much. I bloody hope. Come on let's head into the market, find some poor sod who needs hard labour work doing for some pennies' He lurched off of the fence and they all began moving into the market, Tommy's supply bag on his good shoulder still. The place was just as bustling as it looked from a far. Little stalls set up in ordered rows, covered in a variety of colours and shapes. The pavement turned to cobble and he lost count of all the different sizes and grains beneath his feet before he bumped into Alex's back. Gibson was still behind him as he looked up. Alex was looking into a particular stall that sold what appeared to be baskets and cases of fruit. An elderly man was at the small box of a till and looked rather tired. He was peering at some empty crates. Alex spoke up as he moved back slightly.

'You need any help, Sir, with the crates? He loosely pointed to the crates and the man perked up as he stood, grabbing his walking cane bristled with marks and dents from use.

'Why yes, if you boys wouldn't mind helping. I could do with these being taken to the local grocer. He wants them delivered but I'm a bit old and my back is, well, not what it used to be- I can uh. Let me just-' He made some stiff movements as he turned to the crates,

'It's alright Sir, let us handle it. Point us in the direction, we'll do it for a few pennies. Lads got'ta eat an' all' Alex slurred his accent a bit as he motioned them to pick up the crates. All three of them carrying three each, though Alex carried four and Tommy only carried two since everyone knew he was weak, easily even though the wood splinters and jagged edges cut into his skin slightly.

'Well, yes I suppose. I'll give you three pennies for it. one each. I have some extra to spare, you all look too skinny anyway. There, the grocer is just 'round the corner, thank you' He handed Tommy the 3d from his small box and he tumbled them into the pocket of his coat. That would at least get them a loaf of bread for about 3 days since milk would go sour and eggs would be useless.

'Thank you, Sir, We'll be on our way now. Al' come on'

They set off as the man sat back into his wooden chair and closing his eyes. As they rounded the street they noticed a small grocer and entered, the smell of fruit and grass floated around. The man at the till spied them and helped them unload the crates, thanking them as he went back to his business. The three boys left and Alex bumped into a woman who was carrying away her groceries and she dropped the bag and shrieked back, the fruits and milk jug going onto the floor. Alex moved to help pick it up, apologising as he leaned down. But that seemed to set her off as she squealed and shouted out 'He's stealing my food! Robber!' and moving back startled. That garnered some attention from the other wanderers around them, one of them a burly man and the other a police officer. Alex moved away slowly with his hands up after placing the fruit back down. Tommy turned to Gibson and shuffled him back into the grocer giving him a 'stay' motion and turned back to the unfolding chaos.

'Ma'am I was just trying to help, Here I'll try again-' he leant forward and she cried out again. Alex stood up as the officer crossed the street and the burly man with a large beard encasing his broad chin closed in from further up the street. Tommy swiftly moved to Alex's side to try and help defuse the situation. As quickly as they could.

'I'm sorry Ma'am but my friend was just trying to help. We didn't mean anything by it, we can back away if you'd prefer that-' 'liars!' She moved behind the large man as he came into the situation, teeth bared and fists curled. What on earth?

'What you lads think you're doin' hurting a lady? Do I need to talk some sense into you?! huh?' He grabbed for Tommy and pulled him up by his shirt, 'you stealing!?'

'What!? No s-sir we were just passing-' he moved him gruffly and shook him about a bit off the ground before he was dropped unceremoniously onto the hard pavement. Alex had stepped in and had the man at a face-to-face confrontation. His fists were curled much tighter and they were at eye level, the tension poured around them in waves. He pulled his hand to his neck, rubbing it, as he got up and backed away a fair bit. Alex could handle this much better than he ever could.

' . You have no idea what's goin' on mate, you'd be best lettin' us on our way. We didn't touch the bird, only tried to help her pick up her things' They had their teeth bared like bears as they stared each other down.

'What are you anyways? _Army_ boys? Look like a load of sods to me- just get out of this town before I-' It was enough to send fists flying as Alex threw his fist into the man's jaw, a crack resounding around them. 'If you had even _seen_ a little of the horrors we've faced you'd be pissing your self on the floor in tears you old bastard. Back. Off'. The man swiftly gathered himself and retaliated, socking Alex in the eye and neck before the officer had closed in and pulled them apart. Tommy moved to pull Alex back and the officer snarked at them. Was no one on their side today? He told them to get moving before they found themselves in trouble. Grabbing Alex by the arm and calling Gibson out of the shop they moved further down the street and further away from the scene.

He eventually pulled them into a littered but otherwise empty alley way and sat Alex down. Grabbing his chin and turning it so he could do damage control. His eye had bloomed a sad purple and deep maroon trailed along his eyelid that held a dilated and bloody eye. His neck had a similar fist sized purple bruise that was starting to bloom blue in some areas.

'I should 'ave hit harder, you should of let me hit more too' 'not now Al, You need ice and a cloth. There's no need for any of that talk anyway. It is what it is'. He grabbed a spare cloth and something to cool it down from the supply bag he still carried from the Inn. 'We have no ice so a cold damp cloth will have to do' he dampened the two cloths he had rummaged for and placed them in the areas that needed to be treated. 'We can heat it up later I guess. Stay still.' He assessed for any other injuries and then pulled back, satisfied with his slight handiwork.

'Are all the people here pricks or somethin'? Gods, they all need a smoke or somethin' ' Alex continued his mumbling as Gibson sat down beside him looking just as defeated as Alex.

He then realised they were still hungry.

'We need some food, I'll go by some and hopefully there won't be another scene'. He stood up and picked up the supply bag, moving out of the alleyway.

'Alright, try not ta die will ya?' something that didn't need to be said considering they were supposed to be safe but it was a force of habit by now, he guessed. 'You too'. And he was back into the sun covered streets. There were fewer people about since it was midday and everyone was at work so he made his way to the bakery. It was a small shop decorated with bronze and beige, bread glistening through the window. Geez, he was hungry. Stepping in with a chime from the door he hadn't heard in a while he was greeted by an array of different loaves of bread. All the golden loaves shone at him as there were a few other people in the shop. A boy and his mother and some elderlies. The others were buying their bread and he turned to pick one out. Spying a long baguette that would be easy to tear and share amongst them, glistening with glaze, he picked it up. He handed the baker 1d and he bagged the baguette for him. He placed it into his supply bag and left the shop, the boy's happy laughter of getting a cookie following him out.

Realising they would probably be sleeping in the streets for the night they would need at least one blanket. He moved back into the market way and spied a stall of a haberdashery and lined with cotton, blankets, wool and fleeces of all colours. He walked over and the woman looked up. She was middle-aged with her long brown locks tied up in a bun. Smiling as he made his way over to her. 'Young lad, need something to keep warm tonight? I have all you need here! Call me Susan deary' he smiled as he replied 'Tommy, and yeah I'm looking for some blankets' he spied some very thin blankets that would do alright and be cheaper. She must have fully taken in his apparel as she exclaimed with a certain fondness, 'You a soldier! Why didn't you say so? My son's just like you, he was in France, in the evacuation I think. However, he hasn't come home yet. How did you get here? Is everyone safe?' She rambled as she continued to bombard him with questions.

'Yes, me and my other two mates came here on one of the last trains. They got everyone they could home I-' He didn't want to break the news that her son probably didn't make it past the boats, 'I'm sure he'll turn up, probably still at Dover'

'Why of course! There's three of you! Well here' She grabbed three thicker blankets from behind her, handmade and all individual in colour and pattern and turned back to him 'On the house for a penny, You deserve a lot more than I can give you, and certainly not how some people will be treating you, you're all bloody heroes in my eyes dear!' He handed her a penny and took the blankets, wrapping them atop his bag.

'Thank you, Missus, well I best be on my way before one of my mates starts a ruckus. It was a pleasure' He cocked her a smile as she waved him goodbye. A laugh tugging on her lips. He didn't want to think about how her face would soon become more exhausted. Drained. Sadder. Tear streaks marring her rosy cheeks. He pressed on back through the streets.

Turning into their little alleyway, Alex and Gibson turned to him. Gibson looked happy and Alex's bruising had gone down some and the two cloths were by his side, though the wounds would be there for a day or so. The bloodshot had also receded slightly, the white slowly returning.

'Look what the cat dragged in! Ya got any food, I'm starving!'

'Hold your horses, I got blankets too. A lady gave me a discount' He handed out the blankets and sat between the two grabbing the brown bag from his supply bag. He pulled out the bread and everyone's mouths watered, the smell was heavenly. Separating the bread into three equal bits, he handed the two noses to the other two. Having the middle for himself. They quickly dug in and devoured the bread. 'That was just what the doctor ordered' Alex licked his fingers and Gibson was smiling wildly. They finally had something in their stomachs.

The rest of the day was spent in the alleyway as they sat and talked, stories and idle chit chat. Normal things he hadn't done in a while. It was rather pleasant. The sun eventually went down enough that the sky turned similar colours to Alex's bruises of which he now felt proud about. He still had a penny left, enough to buy them more bread later but they could do with a roof over their heads. The rain eventually came on and spat at them as they huddled together under the blankets for warmth and shelter. Turns out wool is not a good material to use against water.

'Freckles this, really isn't working' Their fringes were wet and their boots drenched as well as the blankets which had diluted in colour from their dampness. 'Better than being completely soaked, now hush' they sat in silence as the last rays of sunlight fell behind the roofs and the birds nestled in for the night. The three of them fell into a light dose, resting on each other before something falling along the pavement outside the alley could be heard. Tommy was alert first, head up and turned towards the alley. two elongated silhouettes could be seen coming towards them, male but he couldn't tell the age due to the way they stretched like tendrils. He shoved Alex awake and he too was quickly alerted. Gibson was the least worried on the surface, relaxed posture and only his eyes open. Unmoving.

Alex managed to hiss out 'What kind of sod is out at this time of night?'

'You should look in a mirror mate'

It seemed to take him a couple seconds to catch on before Tommy felt his shoulder being swatted and an incoherent noise from Alex next to him. Smiling he turned back to the shadows that inched closer.

'Let's just stay still. And- uh- not look conspicuous?'

'Yeah three blokes in soggy blankets in a back alleyway, _completely_ normal' He turned to glare at him as they stilled. The shadows came around the corner and the blotches of darkness came into the alleyway. The only light they had was a small oil lamp left outside someone's window, so they could only make out the faces of the blotches in front of them. Two boys, younger than them, had approached before stopping in front of them; bewildered looks on their faces.

'Who are you?' there was a thick accent behind his words. Alex was about to speak up before he cut him off.

'Three blokes trying to sleep. And you?'

'Two morons out for a smoke and to spit some bursts' bursts? Did he mean firecrackers? And they were definitely too young to be smoking by his standards.

'Absolutely not. You're too young and you'll disturb the neighbourhood.'

'What are you, our _mummy_? Sod off, we do what we want' and with that they stood and lit a smoke, puffing out the grey clouds with ease. They weren't new to this.

'Now hold on just a minute' he stood to sort them out when Alex grabbed his sleeve. The rain had stopped almost completely and he could also see a type of fear, desperation in Alex's eyes. He turned to see the boys opening a firecracker. Oh. They did not need this right now. He turned back to Alex and covered him with his blanket and shoved Gibson at him who seemed to understand what to do and was instantly holding Alex down. 'Wait, please don't do that-oi!' he stalked up to them as they lit the thing up, the crackling startling him and making him flinch back. The hissing continued and it began shrieking, he heard Alex shout out as he went to grab the thing before it could go off completely. His fingers curled around the other boy's hand and the cracker as it hissed further, the bombers moon in the sky didn't help him think any different than all the other times he heard a similar noise. The thing popped with a flash and the bang and heat made both of the boys lurch back, hands covered in black powder and slight burn marks. The flash lit up the whole alleyway for a second before fleeting and Alex was still thrashing behind him.

'You absolute eejits! What did I tell you! the boys stood petrified at Alex's continuing outburst as he turned to help Gibson keep him still. 'Stay!' was all he said to the two as he turned to Alex and grabbed his face, reciting similar things he had already said. He calmed slightly but one look at the other boys and he was hissing out 'Jerry!' before thrashing some more, He soothed his dark locks back like last time and continued relaxing him before humming again, it wasn't long before he calmed and stilled, eyes pulling back from his nightmare. He was breathing heavily and muttering curses under his breath. Gibson let go gently and he followed. He looked back at the boys and shouted at them, causing them to flinch and flee the scene. Looks like this time wasn't as horrible.

Wrapping themselves back into the blankets and getting back into a huddle position, the tense atmosphere dissipated and Alex fell asleep first, rightfully exhausted, Tommy followed and he didn't know if Gibson did or not as he fell into a dreamless night.


	15. Chapter 15: The Hansen Residence Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villa of age.

Roussel didn't follow his other two companions into an empty sleep that night. Everything gave him an eerie feeling in his gut. Not to mention Evergreen's breakdowns and all the calamity that happened that day. Seemed like some English folk were rather rotten and couldn't be bothered to listen to them purely based on what they were wearing. The Alleyway they were in currently was dingy and cold, The soggy blankets only pulling that dampness closer. He looked at the peaceful faces next to him, the occasional knitted brow or murmur fluttering amongst their skin. After the incident with the firecracker, there were no other people to pass the alley. There were a few hours before the sun would rise behind them, cascading the roofs in a warm glow. This gave him some time to get his thoughts together at least.

The train ride had been slightly tiring but it was peaceful, aside from the jerking of the rails and carriage. They had gotten off and met some of the towns folk. The nice ones apparently and headed to that Inn. The noise had offended his ears and being stuck in the room wasn't particularly nice but it wasn't the worst thing in the world. He knew what that was. Then Baby Blues had brought- no- Evergreen freaked out and smashed a plate of all things in his face. He understood but that didn't stop the ache from the gash on his face. He laid his hand over the gauze, hissing slightly.

Then Baby Blues brought in that terrifying woman. Who seemed to be elegant and poise but the minute she got to his wound she was hellish. Saying things he couldn't understand meant he couldn't brace when she said, meaning all the pain from taking the thin make-do bandage off was fully absorbed. He felt his back ache remembering the scab pulling back with the cloth, revealing an open wound with shrapnel hidden within and yellow skin around the edges. She Then grabbed tweezers and took her sweet time in removing the Shrapnel while he was fully sober. Some wine would have done him some good. After that, she cut away the infected skin with little grace or fragility. Placing it on the dish beside her. She used a towel to soak up the blood at the bottom before grabbing iodine and pouring it gracefully over his back. He remembered not being able to hold back shouts and hisses from the pain. She then wrapped it in a large gauze and bandage. It wasn't pleasant but had done the job and he should be thankful for that. Damn Witch saved his life.

Then Baby blues brought in that brown haired fellow. The one that put both him and Evergreen on edge. There was something about him that made his stomach coil. After he left they were officially on the streets, and the whole thing with that silly woman happened. He didn't see much just the large man bullying Baby Blues and having a decent wrestle with Evergreen. He wished he'd gotten his two pence in to return the favour for Baby Blues. And they finally got fed and huddled up to each other for the rest of the day. And now they were here.

The sun had risen mostly and there was some commotion around the street. People were waking up and starting to shift. His back ached as he shifted, he hadn't sat in the same position for long in a while. His movement seemed to wake Evergreen up and he gave him an apologetic smile, he smiled back and shifted into a more awake position. The two still had a large barrier between them due to language but there was a mutual trust and respect for the other and they had still grown close together, along with Little Lamb.

Some time went though it was probably under an hour before Baby Blues woke up, blinking owlishly as he also sat up. He and Evergreen exchanged some words and laughed a little before they seemed to have a proper conversation. Most likely about what to do. He turned back to watching the street knowing he could trust the two of them, his eyes followed every person who would pass. Looking at them from a glance and trying to gain a first impression. Little Lamb pushed his shoulder, after a while, to get his attention and the other two were on their feet. He stood as Evergreen took the supply bag and blankets this time and they moved out the alleyway.

They spent a good two hours, by his standard, to find this area they were going to. Neither of them was trusting enough to ask anyone nearby for help, fearing another confrontation. They walked up a slimmer street and the town went from cobble to dirt roads and he looked up. A few villas stood atop a grassy field, framed by lush trees of all variety of green and a bright blue sky that garnished the roofs. It was a painting that had yet to be painted. They walked up with their boots crunching along, a few green leaves scattered amongst the mud. They looked at each villa before coming to a No.20 he supposed by the small sign at the door. Evergreen knocked first, eye and neck still holding the purple and red from last night but no longer had a swollen eye. Finally, the door opened slowly and he stood still. The god damn witch stood there with smiles and open arms. No thank you. She led them inside and the other two took their boots and the bag off by the door, moving into the kitchen to the right. He didn't move. The witch noticed first and pulled him in, closing the door behind him. She had good strength for someone at death's door. He didn't say that. He moved to sit near Baby Blues, eyeing the witch suspiciously.

She got them some tea and biscuits, odd for the time of day. And the three of them had a conversation. It was quite animated and blurry for Roussel so he decided to look around the house instead. It was a 19th-century villa which held up pretty well, decorated with elegant wallpaper and gold leaf furniture in some areas. They were sat in well-cushioned chairs even for the kitchen and he had a feeling the rest of the house was similar. There were a few paintings visible in the hallway and lounge opposite, probably acquired from ancestors. There were some framed photos of a family and a man and woman. Probably her and her husband. However, if the lack of life in the house was anything to go by, he was long gone. There was also a photo of two children, two girls and then a photo of one of them older, a man and a young boy. They were probably also gone, dead or otherwise, and the son was probably her grandson.

The conversation continued until lunch in which Baby blues made sandwiches since the lady was indeed getting old. After that, he was led upstairs by the other two and the witch and there were two rooms spare, one with two beds and one with the other. He gravitated towards the one with two and it was decided that Evergreen would take the single and they would take the double. There was some more conversation between Baby Blues and the Witch before there was a knock at the door.

A quick, harsh and solid knock. Everyone turned their heads.


	16. Chapter 16: Royal Seabathing Hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miserable gits bedridden.

July 1940~

George's Recuperation was stressful for both Peter and his Dad. They had to move him to the Royal Seabathing Hospital soon after the evacuation but they would have to move George again soon since they were filling up with soldiers for the past month. George was the only civilian there after all. He had spent the past month bed ridden with frequent operations. He had to be constantly stable or they feared he would get himself killed by rolling out of the bed. He was restrained until his skull could heal. Then they had to give him liquid based nutrients since he wasn't able to eat and drink and the stitches sorted out. Peter was only allowed to come once every week due to how busy they were and he could only stay there for an hour or so.

Besides, there wasn't anything to do since George was asleep all the time. His head had healed at the average rate and the doctors said that he will have a scar but his hair will grow over it. They still didn't know how he would fare if he woke up. When he would wake up Peter told himself. The whole month had less fishing in it due to fear of invasion and the Dawson's had lost some money because of it. Peter had managed to get jobs here and there to make up for the loss. But it was still just as exhausting. Even the nurses had pointed out his dull eyes and the large circles under them. He didn't want to tell them that it may or may not be because he hadn't slept by himself for years and was used to the other person cuddling, away from nightmares, with him and that said person might die.

The hospital itself was horrifying to him. Soldiers of every mark were present, all broken and trying to heal. He never thought he'd so many people who weren't whole, literally and figuratively. The walls were painted a murky grey and though the outside was lovely, decorated with red brick and lush gardens and a blue metal fence, the inside paled in comparison. It was usually dull since some patients couldn't have windows open, so blinds were shut, and it always reeked of sterile equipment and death. It wasn't unusual for Peter to hear from George's bedside the final words of men or the cart taking them to the morgue. But he hated to think about it.

A lot of the more bodily able men became interested in George's story, and applauded his bravery for only being seventeen, Peter had said the same thing so many times he could recite it by heart. It was a weird feeling to know George would wake up to all these men knowing almost everything about him but he didn't even know their faces. It made his skin crawl just as much as the smell of the wing. His dad would visit too, to fill out the occasional form and greet George. But he would always leave earlier, unable to look at the sick form in the bed. They brought Jasper sometimes too, to cheer the men up and give them a taste of life outside the walls they were confined to. Though they couldn't always bring him.

After the month passed, two weeks were to pass and the doctors said they could move him. They would move him to the East Cliff Practise by the docks where they kept Moonstone and he would stay there until he woke up and then for heal check ups. During it all, he kept visiting and then helping his dad.

However, he had been utterly drained and sleepless due to one of them. Remembering it with horror whenever he kept still one second too long.

The job he had to take was to help a burly, middle-aged man with cleaning his boat, Sundowner, along with another boy of a similar age. He had bagged the job when the man spotted him bringing the shopping home and remembered him from the evacuation. Said he needed help with cleaning his boat and nets. Nothing he couldn't handle. He'd be given 7d for it and it wasn't something to pass up.

It was the end of July and the autumn had come quickly and brought its usual dead leaves and wind that nipped at your feet. As well as rain. Lots of rain. He woke up and grabbed a quick breakfast, saying goodbye to his dad as he slipped a pair of worn down wellies on and he was out the door. He brought his rain coat and listened to the padding of water on his coat as he went. The trees were turning into ghostly appearances of their counterparts and swirled with the wind. The clouds were thick in the sky and there was little sunshine piercing through. There was probably going to be a storm today. Good thing they weren't taking Moonstone out that morning. He reached the docks and spotted the cruiser known as Sundowner and the man who owned it, John and another dark haired boy mentioned before. The waters were choppy even at the docks and they'd have to be careful.

John smiled as he made his way over. 'Peter! There you are! All equipped I see, here meet Benjamin. he's here to help with ya!' John spoke in a boisterous manner and held that cheerful air about him despite the weather. The boy looked a bit like George with curly brown hair but was taller, about Peter's height, and had grey to blue eyes he couldn't really tell from his angle. As well as wearing a bright orange raincoat and large boots. He didn't say a word to him as they made their way onto the boat. Rude. John gave them some orders and they set about it. They cleaned the sides of the boat and this 'Benjamin' seemed to take care, doing the proper directions while Peter hung off the side from the railing and cleaned it that way. Both just as effective by his standards.

He moved onto to unknotting and loosening the nets with his small knife on the deck of the boat. The rope was rough and he forgot to bring gloves, eejit. His hands burned slightly as he untangled the rope and sorted it into a loop. Moving onto cleaning out the crab cages of excess bait and other substances he heard a splash by the side of the boat. He didn't think anything of it, Benjamin just dropping the rope or a sponge or something. The waters got choppier as the Rain turned torrential quickly. Very quickly. The boat began rocking as he grabbed the Tiller to steady himself. He couldn't see two feet in front of him due to all the rain let alone look for John. He heard some men shouting and some movement on the dock but he couldn't see the damn docks or Benjamin for that matter. He shouted his name as the rocking became vigorous. He noticed that when rocking, the boat wasn't reaching the edge of what should be the docks, it was stopping before it. There was something wedged between it. Oh. Oh shit. He called out again and moved from the tiller to the other side where he boarded and was jostled further, almost falling into the waters below. The waves were crashing against the boat and spilling onto the deck.

He steadied himself on the railing and looked as hard as he could. He saw that bright orange coat and swallowed thickly. That was definitely Ben. Why hadn't he said anything!? or shouted for him? He had to think fast and act faster. The boat jerked as the storm increased. He had learnt to deal with these kinds of things. Perhaps not body-stuck-by-the-boat kind but still. As the force increased he heard the rope tying the boat to the docks give way. which made him remember. She wasn't anchored. Just tied up. She wasn't bloody anchored. Shit. He moved his body towards the roped trying to save it but it was already too late as the boat began drifting out of the docks. And there was no one else on board. Peter rushed to try and grab Benjamin one more time but his body was just floating, a pool of red surrounding his head like a sickening halo. There was no point in getting to him to save him but he had to try and retrieve him, his body, anyway. He hung by and then off the railing and reached forward, pulling the body up and onto the deck as waves crashed into him, him following as it rocked further out to sea. If he couldn't get it to stop then he would become adrift. Too close to the danger zone. He hauled Benjamin over to look at his face, try and save him. But he was met with a disfigured and bloodied head. There were no distinct features but the hair left. The ears were mangled and the eyes missing. The nose and mouth missing. He had gotten caught under the dock, face mauled by the boats jagged sides and the rocks beneath. Unable to call for help. Peter moved back as he felt sick, and then moving the body into the standing shelter.

The boat was out of control and the unexpected storm was at it's worse and he had to act quickly. He turned the wheel enough that she could be starboard to the docks. If she went out too far he'd be unable to bring her back enough that she didn't crash into the rocks or dock. He went to the engine and tried to start it to get a better position to anchor. It sputtered up white smoke and failed to start. Her tank was empty. Peter was really starting to hate this John chap. He felt the storm push Sundowner further out and he needed to anchor her. But anchoring was a two man job and there were so many dangers. If he were to stern anchor he wouldn't be able to pull it free and could sink the boat, if he were to get the thing stuck at a bad angle he wouldn't be able to pull it free. But if he didn't he couldn't man the boat into a controllable position with the storm so large. Swiftly turning Peter got the spare Anchor a dropped it over, causing the boat to lurch in that direction as he braced waves crashing over him. Pulling it taught and tying the rope the best he could, the boat stopped moving outwards. It continued to rock constantly but he was able to run into the standing shelter and curl up under the wheel, braced. He ignored the blood pooling by his feet and closed his eyes. Looks like he'd have to wait.

The storm raged on for what felt like hours before it dispersed as quickly as it came. He pushed himself up from using his hands on the floor, smearing himself in blood as he stood on shaky legs and walked onto the deck. The sky had opened up to reveal light and the rain ceased. The boat finally stilled and he looked around. There were no other boats in his direct sight. Until he looked behind him to Ramsgate and saw two boats approaching, one of them being the one next to Sundowner when she was docked and the other a familiar sight of maroon and white, Moonstone. His dad was there! He stood out further and waved as they approached. Peter stood as still as he could and waited as they came up and to a still, his dad was on board first, bringing Peter into a bear hug. They were there for a few minutes before his dad pulled back.

'God Peter don't do that to me! I was about to had a bloody heart attack!' His voice had a stern tone but he smiled at him before it quickly fell.

'Pete? Why is there some blood on your-' he reached forward and smeared his thumb over his forehead before looking at Peter's hands and raincoat,

'Jesus Pete! Is this yours! What happened?!' his mind flipped back to a bloody face, unrecognisable and cold as he stood there unmoving. 'Peter? Pete?' His dad moved to hug him again and he hadn't realised he was crying until he let out broken and blubbered sobs. The other boat came over and a man about his dad's age boarded with dark hair.

'Where's Benny? Where is my son?!' He looked at Peter desperately.

'I-I. He's. I couldn't. He f-fell overboard. I d-didn't hear. He got stuck. When I-I pulled him back on board. I couldn't. He was already-I' The man rushed to the standing shelter and Peter began to shake. He heard the man pull the body over and he hid in his father, sobbing further. The man joined him quickly with the most cracked and heartbreaking sob he'd ever heard. He didn't need to look to know he was weeping over his dead, mutilated son. John came out from his father's boat and looked at the scene. He spat some curses and stood there while his dad got him on Moonstone and home. They left the scene in dead silence.

Peter was shaking the whole way home.

When they got him inside, dried and fed he cried some more before his dad ushered him to bed. Laying in the hammock by himself he knew he wouldn't sleep. There was no George to keep the nightmares away. He tossed and turned, caressed by images of Benjamin for the whole night.

And for every other night since. Unless he managed to fall into a dreamless slumber.


	17. Chapter 17: The Hansen Residence Pt2

The knock startled him slightly and Tommy turned his head like the others. They had moved from the Alleyway to try and find Heidi again since she was the only hospitable one and even treated Gibson. They found she lived in an old villa, her husband being a railway engineer, and all but her grandson were dead or left her to go to London. She was indeed a widow and decided they could stay there as long as they needed to and try and fit back into normality unless they were enlisted again. Whatever happened first. Heidi moved downstairs first followed by the other three. She moved into the lounge with her cane and sat down with her tea. She looked at them as he cocked a brow.

'Well go on then! I ain't openin' no doors to Spies or Gunners!' what an odd remark. Alright, then. He moved to Alex and pushed him in the direction of the door. He gathered himself and the nearest item for defence, an old fire iron and opened the door.

'what do you want?' He glared and spoke with a gruff voice, with his shoulders tensed before he quickly relaxed them.

He whispered to whoever was at the door and gripped the iron tighter, knuckles blooming white. 'Oi old lady! What's the name of your grandson again!?' the bellowing met her in the lounge as she shouted back, just as gruffly might he add, 'Evan! Evan Hansen!' Alex swallowed thickly and moved back and putting the fire iron back into its holder. 'You might want to see this!' she looked at Tommy who was in the doorway, unable to see what was going on, and he shrugged. She got up and Tommy helped her through the doorway before she stopped dead in her movements.

'Well, I'll be! Is that you Ev!? Come 're, Heidi wants a good look at you' Alex moved and a boy about his age was hunched in the doorway. He had soft tussles of blonde hair and green eyes much like Alex, he was also about Gibson's height and littered in soft bruises, a limp arm that was swollen and a busted lip. He was dressed the same as them, green shirt and jacket and brown trousers though he was missing his trench coat. He looked exhausted and wary of the three random blokes in his grandmother's house. Rightly so.

'Granny, I can't really hug right now, uh. My arm is probably broken' She grunted and led him into the lounge shoving the others out the way before sitting him down.

'Tommy make him some food and tea'

'A-alright Ma'am' 'again, just call me Heidi, dear. Now let's get a good look at you' She began addressing Evan as he moved into the kitchen and began making a ham sandwich and put the kettle on, Alex moved in behind him as Gibson stayed rooted, completely lost. The walls muffled them so Alex saw that as a go ahead.

'So, What's up with a grandson turnin' up at ol' Grannies with a mushed arm and bruises. Missing his trench coat and exhausted? He's a combat medic unless he stole that tattered red cross from the dead and if he came from the same train as us, then I don't know what to think' he hadn't noticed the tattered band around his good arm until just now, peering through the door way.

'You're right but-' He grabbed the kettle and began brewing some tea 'I don't think we have the right to intervene, she's letting us stay as long as we want and accepts Gibson. There's no way we could've gotten a better deal Al' He hummed as Tommy grabbed the ceramic tray he placed the lunch on and moved back into the lounge. Alex stayed next to Gibson as he placed the tray on the coffee table. 'Here Ma'am' ' It's Heidi'

'Alright dear, can you eat this while I get the medical supplies' He nodded already biting into one-half of the sandwich. He looked at Tommy and smiled through his food. Tommy politely smiled back. Heidi returned and they sat in silence as she fixed Evan up, cleaning up his injuries and dealing with his arm mentioning they'd have to get the bone setter to come tomorrow as she put it in a sling. About thirty minutes passed before Evan spoke up.

'I missed the train Granny' 'more like didn't take the train' He became flustered as his terrible lie falling apart and Alex scoffed. 'N-no! I really did- alright fine, I didn't want to go back there Granny, I don't want to go back'. Heidi calmed him down some and they all knew what he was referring to.

'Don't worry about it mate, We're in the same boat. Though we can't exactly go back, we don't want to either'. His words managed to calm the other boy down and he held out his good arm.

'Evan Hansen. Pleasure'

He shook the hand presented, covered in dirt and then some

'Thomas Benson. The moody prick is Alex and the quiet one is Gibson' That pulled a laugh from his chest. Deep and rich. The rest of the day was spent talking about each other and getting to know Evan.

Evan was a Medic on the first hospital boat back at the beaches but it sunk with him and only a few others escaping. He then did what they and almost everyone else did, taking boat after boat to get home. He said he eventually got on a boat called Sundowner and that she was a real girl. Carried them without fault. They explained their trip on Moonstone and left out the fight about Gibson. He gave stories of the men he saved and they, in turn, gave stories about the borders and defending it. The two sides of the conversation admired each other by the end of the long talk and the sun had almost set. Heidi ushered them upstairs, Evan apparently having his own room opposite to theirs. He had enough spare clothes that mostly fit the other two but were a bit big on Tommy before they had dinner made by Heidi, a lovely beef stew, and went to bed for the night. He and Gibson went into theirs as Alex went to his. Some quick kisses later and they were snuggled up in bed, the other bed was forgotten. They slept peacefully and he had his first dream since forever, a lush green field with all of them having a picknick, the sun beaming on their faces before he was suddenly awoke with a thud next door. Gibson moved slightly but since he encased him, Tommy couldn't move or he'd wake him.

Their door opened and Alex emerged, Sweat beading on his skin and uneven breathe eyes large and rapidly looking around. He had never seen him look so terrified. More than when he hears a firecracker.

He managed to move into a sitting position and keeping Gibson sleeping as he took in the rest of Alex. His hair was messy and he was shaking badly. Eyes glassy from crying no doubt.

'Night terror?' 'Y-Yeah. I-I can't'. He swallowed 'Can't sleep by. G-god damn it. By myself. The n-nightmares. E-each one was you or t-the Frog dyin' over and over. Mostly y-you. To the Jerries. I-I couldn't. I had to check you w-weren't ya know-' His voice wavered before Tommy motioned for him to come closer, he was quickly bear hugged as Alex burst into harsh sobs. He felt his shoulder dampen as he rocked him back and forth. The motion calmed him until he was silently crying. in his arms. He sang softly to him with lullabies since that seemed to help him the most and continued rocking him, before kissing his head and getting him into a better sleeping position on the bed. All three merging into each other. The cover just fits them but with Tommy in the middle, they managed to get into a nice sleeping position. He wasn't surprised that Alex couldn't sleep without them, he sure knew he couldn't without one of them. Gibson shifted slightly as Alex began softly snoring. He moved the cushion into place, raising into a sitting position when he noticed Evan at the door, peering in.

'S-sorry! I just, is he alright? I heard a thud and came to see. He looks better. Shit sorry, I shouldn't be-' he was whispering and gripped the handle harshly. 'It's alright Evan, He'll be fine. We went through that hell together so it's incredibly hard to not be near each other so soon after. Sorry that we woke you'

'No-no god it's fine, glad he's alright. Try to sleep well. Good Night Tom'

'Good night Evan' and he was out the door in his blue striped pyjamas, the door shutting quietly. He laid back down and he felt arms encase him like usual. Pulling him into a soft slumber.

The next morning shone through the room window happily, birds singing with vigour outside. He shifted a little and remembered last night, he moved with cerise tinted cheeks and looked at Alex's face. His bruises were healing nicely and his cheeks weren't tear stained like before. His neck's bruise had expanded a little before it began healing. That guy really did a number on him. His hair had smoothed down but was mostly messy due to sleeping. He smiled fondly before he heard Alex speak.

'Oi, Stop being so creepy freckles' He yelped and pushed Alex of the bed, taking the blankets with him. He tumbled to the floor in a heap but grabbed Tommy's wrist and pulled him down with him onto the wooden floor. He grabbed the pillow as he fell and began hitting Alex in the face and giggling.

'What!? That's not fair Freckles, I'll teach yah!' He made a battle cry as he grabbed the cushion and began hitting Tommy with it. 'Wait! Wait!' They were in fits of laughter as they wrestled on the floor, getting tangled in the blankets.

'Gibson! Gimme a hand! Al is playing dirty!' he was brought to the ground under Alex as they fought with the pillow some more. Until Gibson joined in by tackling Alex to the floor, laughing along. Tommy stuck his tongue out at Alex as the door opened, revealing Evan fully dressed.

He sighed at the sight of them,

'As much as I'm glad you are having fun, you'll miss breakfast and break the freakin' floor boards. So please refrain from anymore- pillow fighting' and he closed the door with a smile giving them a ten-minute warning before breakfast. They rushed to get changed and ran down the stairs, laughing as they went and shoving each other. They were met with Heidi smirking at them after scolding them for running like a stampede down the hundred-year-old stairs. Then making them apologise to said stairs, which Alex found 'degrading' before they joined Heidi and Evan for breakfast.

Today would be a good day.


	18. Chapter 18: East Cliffs Practise Pt1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continue on.

He awoke to blackness. He couldn't move and felt heavy. Oh so heavy. He could hear murmurs but couldn't make out anything distinguishable. He tried to open his eyes but couldn't. There was something heavy on top his eyes. Enclosing them. Tight. He tried his voice but could only sputter out a whine. Something moved to his left and George, felt something? someone? Moving the heavy thing on top his eyes. He felt the light return to his eye lids slowly and his hearing seemed to come back to him. So he hadn't lost that then. He heard a woman talking to another woman. So he was in a hospital. He tried to remember what happened but could only remember a man pushing him down some stairs. Everything else was a blur.

'Here dear, let's sit you up. Try not to open your eyes yet' He was moved and a pillow was put behind his back. The woman spoke some more before the light in front of him was dulled. He had a headache and tried to tell the woman but his voice was cracked and parched. He managed to gasp out a 'w-water' and it was handed to him quickly. After he had something to drink he tested his voice again.

'W-where am I? What. What happened?' He tried to project the voice at the woman but didn't know where she was. 'Hospital dear. You've been here for about a month, you damaged your skull pretty bad and you friend brought you in. Been visiting you all this time. Oh, he's such a darling!' the two woman gushed over who he assumed was Peter. God Peter. He left him by himself for a month! He was probably exhausted and definitely grumpy. He felt an anger coil in his gut for some reason as they spoke above him. He decided to try open his eyes. 'Hang on dear! The doctor said it'll be your eyes that are most affected, he needs to be here. Margret bring in !' There was some movement before a male voice appeared. 'Hello George, glad to see you awake. Can we try open your eyes?' The man was pushy and put George on edge. Squirming he tried to open his eyes again.

His eyes were tightly shut by sleep so he used his fingers to amble get rid of it. Then tried again. His right eye slowly opened to brightness. It took several minutes before it opened fully and he looked around trying to adjust. It looked perfectly fine, he saw just as well as before. After telling the doctors they clapped their hands together in a small applause and he scribbled something down. He shone a light in the eye and marked some things down muttering 'good, good'. He tried his left eye this time. It took longer to try and open and he sat there for a while only seeing two dark blobs. The nurses looked concerned so he asked,

'H-hey? I-I can't open it' the taller nurse with blonde hair responded first,

'Oh, honey! It. It is open. Both your eyes are open wide' He stilled.

What?

He focused and his left eye adjusted, he could only see shadows. Nothing else, everything else was just deep black. He began to panic but the nurses calmed him down. They reassured him and the doctor did the same thing as before but with his left eye. As the light shone he saw every shadow in the room and perfectly fine in the other.

'Hmm, the patient, no.105 - has woken up. Right eye and other brain functions are perfectly fine, took a little while to adjust but function just as well as before. Left eye...permanently blind due to back brain damage to the right side' He wrote some things down and then left and he was left with the nurses. They gave him some food and water and talked to him, caught him up on events and then left him to adjust to his new...lifestyle. He was given a mirror to take himself in as they called the Dawsons.

He looked pale but otherwise the same but his left eye looked much different. there was a small bit of swelling that had yet to die down, painful to touch as he found out, but his eye looked fine. However, the iris was completely void of colour, appearing cloudy grey and the pupil was undilated to a point where it was needle thin. But still there. The iris was also lined with a dark circle. It looked hideous to George. He couldn't be a fisherman now, no one would trust him on a boat, the Dawsons. The Dawsons would be disgusted he was sure, throw him out. Peter would hate him and he'd be left alone again. he laid back down and tried to remember the incident.

He remembered the soldier who was shaking had gone to push Mr Dawson and he had tried to stop him. But he threw him? Yes, down the small stairs and he must have hit the wheel some too. Then. Then?

He remembered Peter picking him up? And then laying him on the small bench, covering the wound. He remembered thinking he was going to die and kissing Peter. Then a young man had soothed him and looked after him when he returned consciousness but then fell back in again. And now he was here. Gods, he had messed up real bad.

There was no way they would still want him now.

A nurse came back in and handed him some more water after readjusting his bandage around his head before she was off. He was at the end of the wing and in a more private bed with curtains. Luckily.

It must have been 10-15 minutes before he heard a soothing voice. Though this time it sounded strained and tired. It was followed by Peter's voice but it was harder, more refined than before. But also just as tired as his dads.

The curtain moved and he closed his eyes quickly.

'He might be dosing off or resting his eyes, you can try to talk to him' Mr Dawson spoke first.

'George? How are you? You must be lonely. We're here to pick you up now'

'F-Fine. Eyes just hurt a bit that's all' Lies. You liar. 'Well alright, does your head hurt too?' he heard shuffling as someone left the curtain and someone sat down. 'A little, just tight.'

'You want to look at me George' his voice was a telling whisper, he always could see through his small lies. He slowly opened his eyes and had to strain his neck slightly to see sat beside him.

'I-I. Its-' 'Alright George, you'll recover just fine'

'But I can't see my left side! How am I supposed to help you if I can barely help myself!?' his outburst caused to move back slightly.

'You can still help, blindness never stopped anyone for too long. Trust me you're going to be just fine' He rubbed his shoulder as he sat up a small smile on his lips. Mr Dawson returned the gesture and he knew he could trust him enough like he would his own father.

'You must be dying to see Pete' In which he was, but he'd hate him. Wouldn't be able to look at him. 'Y-Yeah. I miss him' Mr Dawson nodded and pulled back the curtains. Peter stood looking down the wing, Blonde hair a shade paler than usual and dark lines under his eyes. He hasn't slept. He looked paler than usual and had a tighter, longer jaw than before and was poised stiffer. As if he was scared of something? Since when was Peter scared? He turned as Mr Dawson spoke to him and George gave him a small smile. He returned the smile but Peter's eyes went from fond to horrified in seconds. He knew it.

'Pete-Peter?' Mr Dawson turned and George looked away but when he looked back Peter was shaking. Badly.

'P-Pete? What's going on?' his father moved him into the chair he was just sat in and called a nurse for some water.

'Peter, listen to me. It's George, not that boy. You are fine. There's no storm or boat. He is in no danger' The nurse appeared with some water and left behind the curtain.

'Peter? I'm fine. You're f-fine, see?' Peter's eyes seemed to change again and he began crying while his dad grabbed his coat and put it around his shoulder. The crying was soft as his shaking died down slightly but the tears down his face made George feel helpless and guilty. What on earth had happened while he was asleep?

After he calmed down Peter looked at him and smiled before rushing to hug him across the bed. He hugged back and smoothed his hair down before they broke apart.

'G-geez, Georgie! Don't leave me like that again, I thought you were a goner!' His voice was tight and lower than before.

'Then you better not freak out like that again!' They began laughing, George's unused and Peter's tired. 'Promise?' 'Promise' was his reply as they crossed pinkies. They had a small catch up before the doctor returned saying he had to be moved. They moved him laying down into an ambulance and they were off to the new hospital. With Peter and Mr Dawson by his side.

They would be alright.


	19. Chapter 19: East Cliffs Practise Pt2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell was a coming.

He was exhausted but every time he closed his eyes for longer than two seconds his face would appear. Bloody and missing. And it made him nearly breakdown every time. He couldn't take sleeping in the hammock or at all so he would stay downstairs and try to sleep on the settee but fail. His dad knew, he just knew that he wasn't sleeping. He was going to exhaust himself to death. He took on more jobs to pay back an intangible debt and would forget to eat sometimes. A funeral was to be held for Benjamin today and Peter refused to turn up. Even though it was as a thank you for saving the body. He knew they all thought it was his fault.

He killed the boy. Not anyone else. Him.

It was his fault.

Him. Him. Him!

A couple days passed of this after the funeral before a call came from the hospital. George had woken up! His dad got them into a cab after making Peter fix his shocking attire that he hadn't changed for some time then and they appeared at the front gates. He didn't want to see the disappointment or the disgust. No doubt George would find out and think he killed the other boy and would probably feel like Peter failed him from back in the evacuation.

Everything was his fault. Everything.

The Hospital was just as it was, miserable, and Peter was long sick of it. They talked to the receptionist and George's doctor brought them to his bed. His dad went in first, he heard some commotion and George's sweet voice. One he missed dearly. His dad pulled the curtain back and he turned to look forward, away from them. He expected that look. One he never wanted to see on George's face. His dad pulled him and he turned and at first, it was George's small, smooth face smiling at him. He smiled back. Secondly, it was Benjamin. Mutilated and in front of him, dripping blood everywhere. He peered down to see his hands covered in blood.

You. You. You!

The noise was unbearable. So loud he could barely hear his dad or George as it got louder. And louder. He's dead because of him. There's nothing he can do to say sorry, he was going to hell for this. He never stood a chance. Thirdly it was George and his dad giving him water and his dads coat, he was sat on a chair and shaking. He hadn't even noticed. Their voices brought him back from his episode, though they had become a lot less frequent and much shorter, and George kept him grounded again. They laughed and it was his first one in a while. One that was genuine but tired. Then they had to move George and set off back to the docks. He managed to stay calm again.

When they got there he saw a small building which humbly stated it was indeed 'East Cliff Practise' a small doctors building among the few in Ramsgate. They got George into one of the beds and the new doctor, Dr Adams, had a talk with his dad while he stayed with George. He laced their hands together once everyone was settled and tried not to think of the boat or Benjamin.

He sat in a hard wooden chair as George perked up, asking him about what he'd missed and what the weather was like. He told him everything apart from the Sundowner and talked about Jasper to sooth their minds. He was currently with Mrs Hamilton and was just as anxious as them. He looked around the doctor's practise, a homey residence-like place, with old wallpaper and badly decorated - well, everything. The place was well cleaned and still smelt sterile but death didn't linger in the air. He read the calendar on the wall, 20th of August huh? Where had the time gone? George spoke of some of his dreams he had and about that 'Tommy' bloke who he remembered. Both wondering where he was with his mates and what they were doing. They also agreed that they were probably facing more hell and were probably going to be sent off to war again. Like the others. A sour feeling in his gut followed.

his dad returned and said he could stay there as long as he was back for tea and with that, grabbed his cap and was out the door. He was allowed to stay? well, he wasn't leaving then. For the rest of the day, the other two kept each other company until night feel in which Peter didn't leave and instead stayed in the chair right by George who slept on his side facing Peter, their hands still laced together. That night there were no nightmares and he finally slept the whole night. Dreamless, but it was better than no sleep.

That morning the sun beamed through the windows waking Peter up as he stretched the kinks on his back, still the best sleep he'd had in a while. Yesterday the doctor had said something about taking off George's bandages today and then keeping him there to rest for a couple days. Peter left the chair and checked the hallway which was empty but the time read nine-thirty-one. So it was already into the work day by quite a margin. A nurse greeted him and went to make them some breakfast as he went to wake George up. He gave him a shove and called his name. Finally, he sat up and opened his groggy eyes.

'W-What?' 'Wake up sleeping beauty, breakfast is coming. You get your bandages off today since you're pretty much all healed apart from your eye which needs some rest'. George hummed as the nurse entered with a tray of food for the two. Two standard English breakfasts, the smell heavenly. They sat down and devoured the eggs and bacon along with the beans and the rest. Smiling at each other as the front door chimed open and his dad walked in. He put his coat and cap on the stand and turned into their room. He looked at Peter sternly, he could only smile back. He felt much better so isn't that a good thing? His dad finally smiled back noticing his eyes looked more lively and turned to the doctor who approached him. They talked for a while before entering the room.

'Alright George, let's take those bandages off. Then give your hair a good, gentle wash'. George nodded and they slowly took the bandage off. It came away clean and they brought George over to a basin and slowly washed his hair, towel drying his locks as he returned to his bed.

'Alright, after 2 months, his head has successfully recovered though it might take time to adjust with his eye and he'll need to stay here for 4 more days to rest fully before discharge'. They nodded and he gathered his things back into his office. George looked much healthier and his skin had its rosy tint returned. He rested for the evening and Peter was forced to go home so he could freshen up and pack things to stay for the other nights.

When he returned George brightened up and they stayed in each other's company happily while George rested.

Until the 24th arrived.

And it all went to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU if you have stayed this far in! The angst is prettyyy high, poor babies, but they are in a tough position atm - It will die down soon. again comment if you would like! Xx


	20. Chapter 20: Ramsgate takes fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all gone.

It was a Saturday and his dad insisted that Peter should help him take some bait crates out of the harbour and down to the fish shops since he was getting too old for it himself. He obviously complied and left George sleeping in the doctors at nine am sharp, dressed in his yellow fishing gear. A jumper per usual and trousers resting beneath his dungarees. Mustard yellow contrasting deep green. He slipped on his boots and they were off. They moved to the harbour after getting breakfast and reached it at half ten. He moved to help bring out the crates from the ships at the docks and moved them the carts, the well-muscled horses (borrowed from the mills) would help take them up to the fish mongers. Noticing how his dad was struggling to carry the crates Peter told him to return to George and make sure he didn't freak out upon waking up and that he could handle the rest with the other lads. He begrudgingly complied and made his way back over on one of the other carriages setting off, they'd be able to quickly drop him off. He'd reach there pretty soon. He started picking up the crates and piling them onto the cart when he heard the softest hum settling amongst the harbour.

He paid no mind to it until he noticed a commotion from the front of the harbour.

He heard some men shouting and turned to see a group of German bombers overhead. What the? The shouts continued and got more panicked and the one in the lead was shot down, crashing into the front of the harbour, inches to a boat nearby. The shouts got more chaotic as the planes approached. They weren't stopping. People started running to houses and trying to take cover as the wardens ran to ring the sirens. The horses began to panic so he turned to calm them down some, patting one of the necks as he pulled the reigns taught. The one nearest to him bucked and the two of them were trying to escape the cart. The planes came over and shrieked, they were Stukas, and began dropping bombs onto the harbour. Screams echoed as wood and other parts of the harbour were thrown everywhere. The horses squealed as the two of them and Peter were hit by the impact of the blast as harbour planks and debris flew at them. The one nearest to him fell on top of him with its head and neck, crushing him under foot as he saw stars. He gasped and tried to push the draft horses off him as the destruction followed. The bombs continued as the harbour was blown apart, water gushing onto the wood. Shit. Bodies were strewn around and he didn't dare look at their faces. 

His windpipe constricted and he clasped his eyes shut trying to focus on breathing. He got his chest out from under the horse but his legs and lower torso wouldn't budge. He laid back down and gasped for breath as he felt the water flow around him. The harbour would fall in if it took any more blasts. The planes turned before coming back around dropping more hell as they went. They weren't killing because they had to.

They were killing in pure spite. 

The shrieking bellowed making his ears ring as he finally pulled himself from the horse's body. Feeling his chest expand and he felt his lungs burning like molten iron but ignored it. The Stukas had turned to face the town and continued on their way, bombing as they went. The town. George and his dad were in the town. The part of the pier he was on shifted and he braced before legging it back to the town. He tossed baskets out of the way and continued on as planks beneath him gave way, vaulting crates as he went. 

He made it to the front Boulevard and halted momentarily. Houses had been pummeled and left in ruin, screaming was in every direction and the wardens were rendered helpless. Ramsgate had never gotten to building Andersons or Morrisons. They didn't think it would come to it. He sprinted forward and towards the doctor's office. He had to warn them. Had to make sure they were safe. Though he doubted he was fast enough he dashed through destroyed lanes and broken fences. Getting cuts and splinters as he went. The planes were soaring overhead, their screams echoing along the walls of broken homes. Why were they here? They hadn't done anything! He dodged some falling debris as he skirted the streets and made it to where the doctor's street was. He could hear the bombs still falling and thundering through the ground as they went. 

He ran even after his lungs burned and his legs ached. He couldn't stop running. Peter passed a burning building and noticed a young boy stuck by the window, balling his eyes out. His mother and father nowhere to be seen. The planes were still there, still causing agony but the boy would quickly die. He halted and turned back running up to the window. 

'Come on lad! Be a big boy now and jump! I've got you!' he had the most unconvincing voice as it cracked as smoke filled the air around him as he reached out his arms. The little boy shook his head and held with white knuckles onto the window sill on his knees. His wailing increased and he must have been at least seven or eight. Peter turned to look inside the building, the back was missing but the stairs were still usable. He was going to hell anyway, might as well save someone while he was at it. He ran into the burning building, grasping a hot bannister as he went and moving over a buried hand. The balustrade gave way making him trip as he rushed up the stairs and into the room where the boy was, he pushed the door down and continued holding his breath in. The smoke gripped his clothing and still pushed their way into his lungs as he scrambled to grab the boy and put him in his arms. Before shifting onto the window sill and jumping over and out of the window and grabbing the ledges down to safety. 

He ducked into a large hole and placed the boy there, 

'Alright little man, I need to get to my family, can you stay right here for me? until some one comes and gets you' he gave a little nod before Peter was running again. The planes were coming back the way they came, back towards their home. Dropping the last bombs as they went. He turned the last street and saw the Doctor's practise ahead, untouched. 

The Stukas roared overhead and left the remaining bombs in their wake, one dropping near him making him duck into a garden to dodge the blast and one on by the Doctors practise. Taking the roof down with it. He cried out as the planes flew off into the smoke. Leaving the terrifying image of agony in their wake as they dropped the final bombs behind him. He pushed his legs on and ran towards the building. Or what was left of it. The door had been crushed slightly and opening it was going to be a bloody challenge. He pulled at the handle and the frame before deciding to run for it. It gave a slight budge so he tried again. And again. And again until his shoulder went numb.

Eventually, the damn thing gave way as he ungracefully fell inside and was met with a concaved ceiling and bricks littered everywhere. The nurse was at the desk and had by the looks of it, been killed by the debris as it covered her and the remains of the desk. He pushed on and down the hallway and turned to George's room. Peering round he saw two hunched forms inside the door frame. He moved closer and called for them, his dad turned first. Both of them were covered in dust and small pieces of wallpaper. But they were alive.

'Pete! By the God's you're alive! I knew I shouldn't have left you by the harbour'. He rushed over to them and George greeted him with a large hug and a wild look in his eyes.

'I-I'm alright, a bit of bruising but I'll be ok' He didn't tell them that his ribs felt shattered and his legs burned along with the ringing in his ears.

'They're gone, N-not coming back today. I came as soon as I-I could' 

The three took a minute together and walked outside taking in the aftermath. Everyone else did the same thing. The street was deserted and left in ruin, bricks littered left and right and windows shattered, roofs concaved and bodies littered where they fell. Unconscious or dead. The sun had disappeared and replaced with grey clouds and dull life. The birds were long gone and the pavement was covered in debris. They began the small walk home. Hopefully, it would still be standing. While they wanted to help it was best the wardens and search party along with the fire brigade take care of it while they see to their home. 

When they reached Broadstairs they spotted Mrs Hamilton with Jasper, who bounded towards them. Everyone else was out looking at the billows of smoke and fire behind them. Some men began jogging in to help. But Peter felt too light headed. George greeted Jasper first and was assaulted by licks and sniffs. Mrs Hamilton and his dad exchanged a few words before they continued on their way. They spotted their home and much like the rest of the area, it was safe. They hadn't touched the others. And Peter couldn't feel happier. They walked in and took their boots off like it was any other day. He guessed that's just what they had to do. The three sat down and relaxed, George making them some tea. It must have been about fifteen minutes after that he felt sharp pains encase his chest. His wounds must have caught up to him as his adrenaline dissipated. He heaved and his breathing became shallow. His dad noticed as he hunched slowly and it became hard to breathe. He grasped the arm chair with bloody knuckles and choked out some broken syllables. As he tried to stand the rest faded to black. 

And Peter felt weightless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry Pete T^T


	21. Chapter 21: Broadstairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> molten iron from the centre of his chest.

Awaking to his own sputtering and coughing, Peter's chest burned in molten pain. Eyelids flew open and his eyes moved frantically. His chest lurched and the agony increased forcing him to lay back down when he didn't even realise he was up in the first place. His lungs spasmed as he coughed more, throat constricted. There was movement and people were talking to him but he didn't listen. Couldn't hear past the blood thumping through his ears. Gripping his chest caused the strain to increase making him sputter. His chest continued to contract and spasm as the pain shot through his body in waves. It wouldn't settle. He gripped, the sheets? Beneath him and coughed up more spit. His head ached and he felt exhausted. His back arched as he barked more, making the bed rattle. Some one had grabbed his arms and held him down while there was another one his chest making him howl and they quickly retreated. 

The pain exploded and he held back another scream as there was more movement. His eyes were screwed shut as the arms holding him down shifted slightly but stayed there. His lungs went through some more spasms before calming and he managed to still his breathing. He slowly opened his eyes to see he was on a bed? In James' old room. The one holding him down looked like it was his dad but his eyes were blurry and he couldn't see nor think straight. He was breathing heavily despite the pain and tried to gasp for air. It wasn't working. He heard someone come into the room and through his glassy eyes could make out a white coat. Doctor? Doctor. The arms moved slightly and the white coat approached. No. No hands on his chest. He didn't want anyone near his chest. He shifted but that only made it much worse and he yelped as the pain rushed through him. 

There was some more movement and he felt his shirt move and a hand on his chest. It moved and as it reached on area his pain tripled. He lurched back and the hand moved away. 

'...Right side...Fracture...bloomed...Neck to...Arm as well' What? 

Everything was blurred and he whined in confusion. There was more movement before he felt something over his mouth, breathing softened and his eyes fell closed softly. 

The next time he woke up there was no one there. James' room was still painted a pastel blue and the blinds were half closed. The sun trickled in and coloured the wooden floors in a warm glow. The door was open slightly and the rug still as tattered beneath it. The room hadn't been used for a while and his desk was still as it was. Littered with pens and paper as well as books Peter never bothered looking at. He focused on his breathing and it scratched at his throat, a dull pain under his lungs. He suspected they were damaged from being crushed by the horse. He pulled himself up slowly and realised he was in his pyjamas and his sleeves were rolled up. Looking at his right arm there was an ugly spread of purple and deep green down the side, plumes of red and yellow mixed within. A deep bruise caused by the horse or the harbour? He couldn't tell. Moving it made him ache so he laid it back down on the bed and decided to unbutton his pyjama top. 

It took him a minute to unbutton them with one hand and shifted the warm fabric out of the way. once opened a large bruise similar to the one on his arm but with blue instead of yellow bloomed across his chest on the right. It bloody hurt. The bruise flourished by his rib cage and upper shoulder. Wincing he began buttoning up his shirt again. His breathing was shallow and hitched, no doubt from the bruising. He peered at his left hand, noticing some scabs along his palm. they were mostly healed but blossomed a deep maroon as they went, tailing off at his wrist. They must be the result of a burn, the blisters peeling away to scab. After his top was buttoned up again he tried to swing his legs off the bed. It ached but not as much as breathing and he managed to stand. It was tiring but he pulled it off and made his way to the door. He tripped on the rug and fell into the door with an ear-splitting thump, chest burning. He pulled back as he heard rushed footsteps up the stairs. Peter stepped back as the door opened. 

George came into his view with unkempt hair and tired eyes, the cloud in his left one even darker, along with messy pyjamas.

'Pete!' his was breathing wildly and looked at him with excitement. Smile as wide as that day on the tree. He tried his voice but it cracked and felt itchy. He tried to convey that he needed a drink before George perked up and left the room. Rushing back with a glass for him. He drank it steadily but it felt incredible so tried to drink more of it, making his lungs spasm as he halted and began having a coughing fit. George grabbed the glass and put it gently on the desk before ushering him to sit on the bed as his coughs stilled. 

'S-sorry' 'It's fine!' George moved to sit next to him. 

'You've got us all worried! You've been out for days! It's almost September and your dad was sure you weren't goin' to wake up!' he was bounding up and down, dark curls bouncing along, as he explained. 'What. What did I mess up this time?' His voice was still rough and dry.

'Nothing! Well, you've fra-fracta-fr-' 'Fractured' 'Yeah! One of your ribs and damaged some others slightly and bruised a lot of your body. They don't know how though. Mr Dawson and the Doctor both agreed you would need a lot of rest anyway.'

'I was crushed.' Might as well tell him.

'W-what?' his brows furrowed and he tried to explain. 

'W-when the planes came. I was with the horses at the harbour with the other lads and-' George made him pause so he could regain his breath. 'And the harbour was hit first, the horse came down on me as she was killed. I was stuck for a couple minutes until I could pull myself out'.

George shook his head and grabbed his good arm 'Jesus Christ Pete, and the burns? The doctor said you must have grabbed something the way your hand burned'. He nodded as he continued. 

'I saved a little boy, grabbed the red hot bannister, was a bad idea but I tripped running up' He pulled a short laugh out and George smiled fondly. 'Alright well, Mr Dawson is out now. You need rest- the doctor is coming back later to check on you, awake or not. come one'. He pulled him into bed carefully and tucked him and left with the glass from before, closing the door softly. It wasn't long until he fell asleep again. 

The third time he woke up and there were three people in the room. Opening his eyes he felt a lot better, chest heaving properly and only a dull ache. He lifted himself and they all looked at him happily. George was sat in the desk's chair giving him a happy smile and his father and the white coat, who he assumed was the doctor, were standing at the door talking. He was in a different set of Pyjamas and it had short sleeves. He looked at his arm to see the bruise all but gone, a little brown and green around the side but other than that healthy. How long was he out? He started unbuttoning his shirt to check his chest and George squealed and the other two looked at him. 

'Ah ah! Young man don't do that, you'll hurt yourself!' 'Pete, how are you feeling?' George was red to his ears and looking out of the window instead and the other giving him a fond smile as he dropped his hands. 

'Better, my arm doesn't hurt anymore' The doctor came over and checked his arm, scribbling some notes down as he went. 'Alright, you can take your top off, slowly and with care' He did as he was told and he looked a lot better. The large bruise was all but gone apart from in a small area of yellow and deep brown halfway down his rib cage and was surrounded by a purple ring.' The doctor prodded him some and at one point it was painful, not like before but it still hurt. The doctor noted this and pulled away and he put his top back on slowly. 

'Good, you have healed nicely in the seventeen days you've been all but dormant for. The rib has probably almost healed, though I suggest you ease off on it for a couple of months and then after. Your eighth ribbed was fractured by-' he trailed off as Peter re-told the incident, the man writing it down and his dad giving him a very concerned look. 'right, being crushed. Your arm should be completely fine in a couple of days and your burns have healed nicely but I suggest you heal up in bed for another week before you start doing every day things again. And certainly, no going out on those boats' he had turned to his dad as he spoke who quickly agreed. He forgot about his burned hand. He looked down and noticed there was a pale scar where the burns were, blooming upwards across his palm. 'I am highly impressed you managed to run and do more even physical labour with the rib like it was, but you shouldn't do that sort of thing again. You heal fast, I've only seen a few like you in my career' He nodded and the doctor finished up some things as he dad showed him out of the door. He had no idea what day it was but it e guessed it would be at least mid-September. George chatted to him as he fell into another vacant but pleasant slumber.

When he woke up again for the first time in a while he felt alive again, able to get out of bed with ease and his chest no longer burned and he took in a deep breath. And exhaled. 

He could breathe again. 

He trekked downstairs to see his father reading the Sunday newspaper and George cuddling with Jasper who jumped up to greet him. His father nodded at him and told him breakfast would have to be toast today. After eating some buttered toast and having something to drink he was ushered back upstairs to have a bath and get changed. The bruising was all but gone and he could put some pressure on his rib without any pain. His arm was at full capacity and he felt a lot better after cleaning off all the dirt and other fragments stuck in his hair from the bombing. That's what it had been. A bombing. Completely uncalled for but it had still happened. Still taken lives and ruined homes. He tried not to think about it as he moved downstairs and sat on the settee with Jasper on his lap, relaxing with an intake of the air he missed. 

Life would have to carry on. Though that wasn't an entirely bad thing either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stuff will get better I swear ;)


	22. Chapter 22: Johnson's Grocer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashford finally welcomes them

The first month under the Hansen household had been eventful. His shoulder healed within the first few weeks, leaving a scar on his shoulder, while Gibson's was taking some time but had drastically improved, scabbing into a large mass on his back. It would eventually peel away and reveal the marred skin that had been left behind. 

The first few days were spent settling in as Heidi was adamant they were going to stay along with Evan, whose arm had been fixed by a bone setter and sling. It was an early afternoon when Alex made the great idea to try and learn Gibson's real first name and to get him to understand there's. Easier than it sounded. 

'No no. Not lec. A-L-E-X' They were sat in the lounge area, seated on plush chairs, with a coffee table between them. A frustrated Alex trying his hand on a piece of paper and a poor Gibson trying to understand it. 

'Al-lec' 'No. Again. A-L-E-X' Tommy was sat amused by the whole situation. How had they moved from those beaches to this cosy room? It was all beyond him. 

A few more tries later and Alex flung the pencil down, groaning into his hands. Gibson gave him an apologetic smile. The coffee table was bamboo and well varnished, an antique they didn't deserve, and their three Dog tags sat among the pieces of paper scattered there. The light was a warm afternoon glow and settled on their happy faces. 

'Here Al, give it to me, You're the epitome of uselessness' 'Oh come. on! That's not fair!' He nabbed the paper and turned to Gibson and began slowly. He wrote out a capital A in elegant writing he had picked up as a child. And pronounced it a few times. Gibson caught on and said it with him.

'Good' He nodded and moved to write an L out and said it aloud a few times as well. Gibson following along. He continued on with E and X before putting them together,

'A-L-E-X, Alex'

'A-Alex' his accent was thick but they could eventually pass it off as Canadian. 'Good!' Alex cheered and they moved on to his name. he wrote out a T-O-M-M-Y before pronouncing each letter and then together. 

'Tommy' he said while pointing to himself with the pencil.

'Tommy' His voice was gruff and just right and he and Alex cheered. He pushed the pencil into his hand and passed the paper across the table before pointing at Gibson. He wrote out an R-O-U-S-S-E-L in incredibly elegant writing

'Russel? Roussel?' He nodded at the second one. 'Alright Russel, nice ta finally meet ya mate!' Alex threw out his hand and Roussel shook it, replying 'Alex' and then turned to him. He smiled and stated, 'It's Roussel Al, put a bit more 'oomph' into it' as Alex shoved him nearly off the chair. He shook Roussel's hand as he stated a 'Tommy' in his thick accent and the rest of the day was spent teaching him the alphabet. Which wasn't too hard, the two languages were sort of similar. 

They moved onto basic greetings such as 'hello' and 'thank you' as the sky darkened and Heidi got Tommy to cook for them. How she had guessed was beyond him. They were all surprised he even had it in him. 

'Comes with growing up with just a mum and older sister. I'm pretty much a spitting image of the two combined' as they all laughed over a carousel he had made. Roussel finally able to thank him which felt wonderful. Evan had been out for most of the day doing groceries and talking to people in the town to look for jobs they could get. Another step back into normality they had to take. When he returned he was well worn and slightly covered in soot and had a bag of food. He placed them into the pantry and joined them for dinner as Tommy got him a serving.

'Well, turns out the railway needs some men. Hard labour and all that. The Post Office needs a post boy and the Grocer a grocer's boy. I was thinkin' that Alex and Roussel would take the railway jobs and Tommy you could try one of the other two'

'Grocer boy sounds about right, Evan you can take post boy if you want mate' 

'Sure, why not' Heidi agreed and they went to their designated jobs after the next few days.

He left after Alex and Roussel who had to leave early to get the shift. As he left the air had a bitter Autumn feel, brown and orange colours swirling within the dirt path. It took him about fifteen minutes to get to the Grocer and was met with the same man as before. 

He was moving fruits around as the door chimed startling the man, 

'Oh! Gosh didn't see you there son, what are you doing here so early?' He moved to meet him at the door. 'Wait. Are you one of those lads from before? With the crates?' He nodded. 

'Thomas Sir, I was looking to see if you had a job position still open?' 'Why of course! Grocer boy, you'd be here every day apart from Sunday per usual, I could do with the extra hands'. 

He accepted the job offer and was told he would start work that day, as he was passed a brown apron. The shop was a medium size, a large shop window elegantly displaying some of the more exotic foods and cheeses. The rest was of a similar fashion. Biscuits had their own corner, garnished with shortbread and gingerbread among others. There was a large shelf full of a variety of tea and a long table of jams by the till. The till was silver and grey and sat on a large oak desk and the rest of the shop was decorated with cosy paintings and sun-kissed orange walls. The Grocer, Mr Johnson as he found out. Lived upstairs like many do and lived alone. The business 'Johnson's Grocer' was family run per usual and had a warm atmosphere. 

his job was simple enough, sort out the stock and help shift items around and man the till on what would be rare occasions. Guide people if they couldn't find something and try to be nice. He would be paid around four pounds every week, 230 shillings. That'd be plenty when paired with Alex and Roussel's wages. His first day was rather easy going, not much happened and he managed to get the job done without much hassle. He hung his apron up and washed his hands in the small basin in the back room and said goodbye to Mr Johnson. Leaving the Shop at about five-thirty-five as he made his way out of the town. The air was crisp as the sun was setting earlier around this time. He noticed the wardens were already out and patrolling, one of them giving him a stern look, probably a sign he should get going. Though the bombing in London and a few sea towns, Ramsgate seeing the worst of it as he read in the newspaper, so far Ashford and most of the country were left untouched. Though that was unlikely to stay that way.

He got to the dirt road when the sun was completely gone and made his way up, opening the door he was greeted by darkness, the only light coming from the lounge. He kicked his boots off as he closed the door. Making his way into the room he noticed Heidi in her rocking chair knitting and Evan reading the newspaper, obviously done with his rounds for the day. He hoped.

'Hey Evan, did you get the job?' 

'Yeah, yeah. Quite simple but tiring. I get five pounds a week. Though I have to work Sundays too, you?' 

He moved to sit in one of the chairs by the coffee table as he replied, 

'Unlucky. Yeah, the man Mr Johson gave me the job. 230 shillings a week, Monday to Saturday. it's a nice job so far' Evan nodded and went back to reading. He settled in for a minute before he asked

'Hey, were are the other two idiots?' Heidi answered first after coughing

'Not back yet, I told 'em not to let the guys there push them around but they probably have to work longer and then walk home. And can you get some dinner on deary, I would love some shepherds pie' Her smile was cunning and he knew he didn't have a choice.

'Of course Ma'am' He stood up and walked to the kitchen as she shouted back 'It's Heidi for the last time!' His smile was fond as he sat about making the pie for when the other two got home.

It turned to half seven and the pie was in the oven and nearly done when he heard the door open and the most frustrated noises he'd heard in a while. Boots were kicked off in a tantrum as Alex stalked in, barking something to Roussel. Tommy sighed as he cleaned up the rest of the kitchen ready for dishing up. 

'Well look at that, that's a sight I could get used to! Some home cooked food' Alex's voice was taught behind him and he heard Roussel shuffle in as Heidi shouted 'Don't touch any walls you filthy buggers!' as he turned around. He giggled at the sight of them, Picking up the nearest kitchen towel.

Alex and Roussel stood there smeared in oil and soot, shirts as black as their hands, bright eyes surrounded by tired lines. Hair absolute messes and bright smirks. 'You can tell me about it at dinner, now off you go. Get that filth off of you. And don't touch any walls!' He shooed them away as he realised he was turning more and more into Heidi. And his older sister. The two grunted as they moved upstairs to clean up. 

He dished up the pie into five plates and placed them on the dining room table that Evan had kindly set. Heidi and Evan sat first as Tommy poured them all some wine, a treat from Heidi's cellar, and the two boys emerged from the stairs. Both were finally clean and wearing some extra clothes Evan had got them a few days ago though they had yet to go and buy their own. 

They dug in and Alex began to talk animatedly about their day. He started off by saying they worked with getting trains sorted as they arrived, as well as manning the tracks. The extra labour was strewn within. Earning about six pounds each, sometimes they would have to be called in on Sundays apparently. He then began to let off steam and talk about an 'absolute plonker that didn't know what he was doing and nearly died' and Roussel seemed to get the vibes and who he was talking about as he nodded. The whole table continued to be filled with laughter and stories. Heidi and Alex having a witty remark battle throughout. He had never felt more at home.


	23. Chapter 23: Black streets and darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LOOK OUT in the BLACKOUT

It was towards the end of September when Roussel called him into the bathroom, as he entered he noticed the scab was ready to come off, Roussel handing him some equipment. He felt as if they had come full circle, as he was the one to first treat the wound. He sat him on the bath, facing in, as he got to work. 

Using a tile and tweezers he gently pulled at the peeling scab. He held a towel underneath to catch it as it broke away and placing it on the white tile. The largest chunks fell first, leaving a dark scar behind, twisting around the areas where the Shrapnel had first lived. He pulled the smaller piece until the whole scab was gone, tiny beads of blood popping up in the areas not quite healed though they were minor. He grabbed a cloth and some soap, gently washing the scarred skin before drying it and letting Roussel know he could turn around and put his shirt back on. Roussel turned and gave him a chaste kiss before standing up and taking the equipment with him to wash up. It was a Sunday and while Evan was at work, Alex had gone into to town to pick up the Sunday round. They made their way downstairs and were met with a note from Heidi. 

_Dear the two sleepy love birds (yes I can tell. don't stress dear, I've seen worse and I can have no say in who you love),_

_If you could weed the garden for me while I'm out loves, Alex will be back and you can make him help you with it. Evan will be awhile as will I. You can eat whatever you wish and I expect a lovely dinner when I get back at half six sharp!_

_~ Your favourite old hag_

His cheeks heated as he put the note in his trouser pocket while grinning like an idiot and told Roussel to go to the garden while he got the equipment. They had continued teaching Roussel English and he had managed quite a lot in two months, understanding simple sentences and phrases. As well as quite a lot of words. He made a mental note to make chicken for dinner and got the herbs ready and on the counter. They had gotten a letter from the Ministry of Information telling them that rationing would begin after Christmas, and he knew he would have to change the way he cooked meals to meet the food shortage. After he had the preparations sorted he moved out to the garden to see Roussel already had the equipment sorted and held a cocky smile. 

He closed the door behind him and gave Roussel a kiss on the cheek before settling down to help weed the garden. He had no idea what their... relationship had come to but decided it was better than what he would ever need despite them having to keep it secret. 

'Alex will be home soon Rous' ' He had to keep his sentences simple to help him adapt and learn the language, it would take some time before he could pass off as Canadian. 

'Alright, mon amour' He never knew what he was saying other than when the words matched up but guessed he was usually using words of endearment, making him smile. 

'You know I can never understand your posh French dear' 

'I know' His words were always to the point with his restricted vocabulary and Tommy didn't know when he started using his own endearments in secret but didn't bother to change it. He liked it just the way it was. Roussel was pulling out various weeds and he decided to prune the roses as well as cut the bushes with the knife and cutters when they heard someone enter the house. Alex appeared in the garden shortly and laughed at the way they looked. He peered at a window and noticed how they were both dirty and their locks were covered with leaves and his petals. Not to mention the grass stains and dirt on their clothes. He laughed along as Alex came further into the garden.

'Well you have to join us, Heidi said so' He stuck out his tongue as Alex threw some of the weeds at him and they were soon running around the garden throwing grass and weeds at each other. Roussel looked unamused as his neat pile of weeds were scattered and forced Alex to pick them up as they continued to finish up the garden. When they were done and had disposed of the weeds they took in their handy work. The garden was medium sized and bordered with rose bushes, all trimmed neatly thanks to Tommy, the grass had been cut and weeded and trimmed around the edges. It's circular shape more prominent. Alex had trimmed the hedges at the back and refilled the bird bath and cleaned the fountain of green moss. Tied in with the sunlight it really was beautiful. It was only then when he realised he had yet to start dinner. He squealed a 'Chicken!' as he ran back inside, taking his gloves off and rushed to the kitchen. It was six pm and Heidi and Evan would be home soon and it would take longer than an hour to make. Bugger.

Alex and Roussel must have put the equipment back when they entered the kitchen to see him dashing about, pots and pans in hand and a chicken on the counter. They tried to help but knocked herbs onto the floor and spilt cooking oil so he ushered them out with a shout. They probably made their way upstairs to get washed up. He moved to season the chicken and put it in the oven before starting on the roast potatoes. And then the veggies. He finally had the chicken and sides in the oven together at six-twenty-five and if his shouting and cursing were anything to go by, the other two were probably staying out of his wrath. He began cleaning the kitchen and washing up the dishes and was done by six-fifty-five. Evan and Heidi had yet to come home. He began to worry his lip. What if they were hurt? Or got stuck without help? He wanted to send Alex or Roussel to go out and fetch them but they could be bombed tonight. He went back to fixing up the chicken and ignored the nervous flutters in his stomach.

When it was ready and he had set the table he dished up for the three of them, leaving the other's portions in the oven. He called the two of them down and double checked the door as Alex appeared first. 

'Still not back yet?' 'No, and I'm worried. What if they're hurt, or stuck. Or-or been bombed-'

'You're frettin' again, it'll be fine Freckles' and that was it as they sat and ate in comfortable silence. Alex began a story from today about some 'young girl losing her doll on the tracks while he was there and he most _definitely_ put his life on the line to get it back' as there was a knock at the door. Tommy was up first and went to answer it, letting his dinner go cold. There's no way this could be anything good. 

When he reached the door the knocking got frantic, more rapid. He opened the door to reveal a man, red faced and holding a roll of black material. 

'Black-out curtains for your house, should be enough there, They're being given out to the whole town' He was out of breath as Tommy took the thick roll 'Sorry I probably scared you something silly son, just put those curtains up tonight you can buy more in town, blasted Germans won't be able to see us. And while I'm here, blackout starts earlier now, there will be no lamps lit, and keep your light to a minimum'

'T-thank you sir' he began walking away before turning and shouting 'And put some tape on those windows! Blast proof' before jogging some more and again shouting 'And use coal fires to keep warm!' and then disappearing into the thick darkness. He closed the door and went back into the dining area, placing the rolled up curtains by the door. The other two eyed him curiously as he explained, sitting back to finish his meal. 'Those two aren't back yet, I'm getting really worried now- it's blackout they can't see anything, what if-' 

'Relax Freckles, they'll be fine. Evan's with her after all. Here- after dinner, I'll put those curtains up with Roussel' Who also nodded,

'Well. Alright, I'll tape the glass, we should have something around' They finished up their food and he washed up as they other two began putting up the curtains, he left the oven on low in hopes the other two would return soon. He eyed the clock, eight-fifteen. It was getting late. He went into the back cupboard where most tools were kept and found a roll of tape and began taping the windows in long Xs as the other boys put the curtains up. By the time they were done there were only 3 windows left and they were upstairs where all lights were off. They'd be fine for now. Alex and Roussel moved to the Longue as the door opened and he heard footsteps. He rushed to greet the people at the door and saw Heidi and Evan scuttle in. They were safe. Unharmed. He hadn't realised he was crying until Heidi had him wrapped in her arms and Evan moved to grab him some water, maybe? He sobbed some as Heidi apologised.

'Oh love, I'm so sorry. I didn't think I would put you in this state for being late. Oh honey, hush. We're fine. Not a single scratch. See?' her voice was smooth and laced with concern, she pulled back slightly and then hugged him just as tightly as soon as she saw the tears.

'We had to go to the broker to sort some things out and then had to stay in a cafe while the black out began. We left as soon as we could. Hush love' She moved him into the lounge where the other two were and they were quickly alert and worried. Evan passed him some water as he calmed down, Roussel rubbing circles on his back. 

'S-sorry, I can't- you worried me is all. I can dish your dinner up. It's still warm' He moved to sit up as Heidi pushed him down gently as he sniffled. 'Evan can deal with it, you just relax.' He stopped crying and calmed down, they were safe. They were all safe. 

'The man gave us the black-out curtains, We cleaned the garden something good too. And Tommy even stressed him self out to make you dinner, ya should be grateful!' Alex told them off some more as they sat and ate their meal, again telling him how good it was. 

Everything went back into comfort as his little stress passed, the others cheering him up as they went. When it finally got late they all retreated to bed, snuffing out the fire Evan had been burning in the brick fireplace, and turning lights off. The three of them snuggled together like usual, Though over the few weeks Evan had joined them and slept in the bed opposite. They didn't protest as he simply said, 'I have nightmares of that place a lot'. Soon they all fell into a cosy slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heidi needs to step up here old lady game :<<


	24. Chapter 24: Karol of the Bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corrupted Lungs

When he was finally allowed to leave their home, the fresh air made Peter feel alive again. It was early October, covered with dull clouds and a white sky, and he had finally been considered recovered enough by his dad and George to leave the home without getting himself killed. They had told him that the town was mostly flattened and the townspeople had gone to hand carving out a small underground city, the feeling of another bombing in their hearts. His dad mentioned it would take them about a year but they were well into the excavation. George also animatedly spoke to him about getting used to his sight, or lack there of. He was still bumping into things but the lack of his sight made him have better hearing. Or whatever that meant. He was also incredibly doubtful about himself and his appearance and it took a lot of cuddles and talking to get him to think otherwise.

When he finally walked to the town he realised they weren't wrong. The houses were hollow shells and though there had been a massive clean up of most of the debris and brickwork, it made Ramsgate look like a ghost town. He made his way to the harbour and he took in the way it was crooked, marred by the raid. The lifeless bodies of boats that would never sail again were among the broken harbour. For once he was happy that they had docked Moonstone away from the harbour and into the end docks. There were stacks of broken nets and baskets, long forgotten and the town felt empty.

He stood there for a while before he heard someone running towards him. He turned to see a tall blonde woman already in her winter coat. She was slightly out of breath as she motioned to hold on a second.

'Are, are you ok Ma'am?' She looked at him with bright eyes,

'Peter? Is that you Peter?!' He looked at her with worry,

'Uh, I mean. Yes, I am. I'm...sorry? But do we know each other?' 'Oh! Not by name but, you were the boy who would visit George no?' Oh. She was a nurse then, from the hospital.

'Yeah, I'm his close friend, he lives with me and my dad. Why? Did something happen?' He put his hands in his trouser pockets as she continued.

'Well, golly! We thought you were dead! From the bombing, of course, we haven't seen you in town in weeks! and by us, I mean the town' dead? Last time he checked he was very much alive.

'Well- I've been bedridden for the past month, damaged my self-something horrid. Though I'm sure you don't want to hear about it' Her eyes flickered to worry as her brow furrowed.

'Well, I'll be! Since we didn't see you at the remains of the hospital, We thought you'd died. Fallen into the sea or something. Didn't realise you were at home!' Remains? He moved to look back into the town.

'What happened to the hospital?' 'Oh! All of her east and south wing were pummeled. We couldn't get everyone out in time. Though we got most! The whole raid i believe killed thirty-one, injured forty-nine and you were one of the ten or eleven that we assumed were seriously injured or missing. It's great to see you healthy again!' 'Well, thank you, Ma'am, but I must be going now. Things to check up on and such. Have a lovely rest-of-the-day' She excused herself and hurried off with a wave.

He had come into town with the intent of grabbing some more lures for his dad, but he didn't even know if the shop was still standing. Walking the rest of the Boulevard as he turned the corner to see the shop was open but had lost some of its roof. He stepped in with the bell's chime and had a quick conversation with the shopkeeper and then buying some lures for his dad. He left in good spirits and made his way home, lures in his pocket. As he passed the beach, rocks would merge in his eyes, shaped like a limp body or a bloody face. He looked away and focused on walking forward. He hadn't had another episode since, well before the bombing, mind too occupied. He'd hope he wouldn't have another one soon or even better. At all. That was unlikely, unfortunately.

He walked up the road to their street and noticed Mrs Hamilton, she was struggling to walk and was near the edge of the road, a harsh cliff beside her. She looked exhausted and trembling. He knew she had a hard life, struggled since her husband was killed in some stupid and highly illegal duel. He made his way across the road quickly and grabbed her before she fell over.

'P-peter? I-is that you dear? I'm not feeling so good, coul-d you take me h-home' She hobbled before collapsing in on herself, Peter bracing them as they fell to the ground. Her walking stick fell upon the road, skipping as it went.

'Mrs Hamilton? Mrs?! Hold on alright, I need to get you to a safe area' Not another one. Please, not another one. She fainted into his arms and he just sat there. Her dress and coat flowing around them, marron mixing in with the cool greys of the path. Peter had to remove the images of water on a deck and blood stains as he heard a horse and cart. Air wardens? He turned to see two black horses turn up the road. The green cart with the white showing him it was an air warden. Calling out to them as they turned, they picked up the pace to meet him. The first one got off, the other staying at the reigns and he came to meet him.

'She, she fainted. I-I couldn't' 'It's alright son, you did the right thing getting to her, who know's when we would have found her if you hadn't' The gruff man picked her up and they got her onto the cart, turning around to go to the hospital he guessed. Leaving Peter to stand as the rain came on, making his hair stick to his skin and his woolly jumper soggy. He turned to head to his home. He noticed that the kitchen light was on so someone must be home. He knew Dad was out with Moonstone and George had been out with Jasper when he left.

He kicked his shoes off as he entered and George peered around the kitchen door.

'Oh! You're home! I thought you'd be gone for longer than that' He nodded as he moved into the kitchen to see George making a simple lunch and grabbed an extra plate, probably for him.

'Did you see Mrs Hamilton walk by about ten minutes ago Georgie?' 'hmm, Not from where I am no' he turned to take in his attire completely 'Gosh Pete you're soaked through' he put the butter knife down and peered out the window, 'you should have said. Come on up you go, get some fresh clothes on' George ushered him up the stairs and returned to the kitchen. Once he was changed him re-entered the kitchen to see sandwiches set out on two plates, a glass of water for George and a pint for him. As they sat down and began eating he continued.

'She passed out. Mrs Hamilton. I went to see if she was alright, Wardens picked her up. I swore she was dead. Like-Like him' He felt George rub his shoulder and smile. 'It's alright, you did the right thing, you can tell me about. Him. If you want but I'm fine either way. We can talk about other things-I' 'It's alright I owe it to you' 'Peter you don't owe me anything'. He checked the clock, one-fifty, and the window. It was very much still raining.

'When you were in the hospital, the season was cut short, due to what happened in May we can't fish that far out. So I took up other jobs to help dad. One of them was to clean a boat with-with another lad' George was nodding and purely interested, their sandwiches finished. He took a swig before continuing.

'It was weird weather that day, I didn't expect it to-to storm like it did. We were cleaning the boat and I- I heard something enter the water. I- I should have but I didn't check up on the other boy' This was going to be difficult,

'And the storm started, mad as hell Georgie, I couldn't even see it was that mad' Their drinks were long forgotten. 'The boat was rocking and I couldn't control it, it wasn't hitting the dock either, I scrambled to, to check' He couldn't look him in the eye.

'The lad was there, in the water. I-I pulled him out and-' Images of his face lapped in his head and he must have been shaking as George turned him and held him tight. Both squeezed on the kitchen chair. This time he managed not to cry and continued the story until he got to where his dad picked him up on Moonstone. 'So-so there, I killed a lad- and when I saw you when you woke up. I saw him, his face on yours. I couldn't take it-and-' 'It's alright Pete' they hugged tighter,

'But you didn't kill that boy Peter. even if it was unfortunate. You couldn't have changed anything alright. Don't worry about it' He looked at him and smiled, silvery white and hazel eyes shining up at him.

And suddenly they were kissing again. He didn't think George remembered the first one but apparently so. He settled his hand behind his neck and held him in the embrace on the chair, deepening their kisses. When they pulled back eventually they both had messy hair and red cheeks,

'I didn't think you would remember the first one' George shook his head, smiling fondly.

'You can be a real idiot you know?' Peter sealed their lips to stop him laughing at him. The rest of the day was spent with butterflies in his stomach and serenading George in kisses.

For the rest of the year, they celebrated George's birthday, 20th November, and he was now eighteen years old and allowed to finally drink alcohol. As soon as he tasted a pint he swallowed it with a grimace and asked for water instead. Forever weak with alcohol. Peter always bought him flowers every other week so he could refill the vase with his favourites, it burned holes in his back pocket but Peter could care less. But for his birthday he got him the most exotic he could find, lilies and roses, sat elegantly in a new vase Mrs Hamilton had got him. Made of glass and decorated with poise. Mrs Hamilton as he also found out was healthy and hadn't eaten much that day, making her weaker when she was out. George decided they should give her Sunday dinner every week and they soon did and it became a small tradition.

When Christmas rolled around he realised he had to find George something but didn't know what to get him. His dad didn't know about their relationship, better he didn't, so he'd have to ask someone in the town to help. George was spending the day with his dad on the boat and he was still unable to go out with them, His dad insisted his ribs would give way and he would have to wait until January. So he left the House with Jasper in tow, trotting by his feet, his winter jacket on and the same old jumper and trousers. He put his wellies on as the weather just left sleet and wet mud instead of crisp white snow.

The walk down was slower than usual, he still worried about falling even at his age of 19, and he reached the town soon enough. It was still unbearably cold and he felt it in his bones, waving at people as they passed. The underground system had been coming along nicely and they had yet to be bombed again. He saw a strange sight of a traveller with their cart, Irish probably, with a Gypsy horse standing by the harbour. Their wares glimmering in the sun. They would surely have something unique for George. Peter trudged up with Jasper bounding in front of him and the middle-aged woman noticed them immediately.

'Hello boy! Have you come to buy something for that special someone?' she had long curly dark hair and dressed in wild clothes, knitted in an array of colours. her teeth were crooked giving her a lisp in her thick accent as she smiled. Her eyes were a blue based silver and sparkled as she talked. Should he really be buying from this lady?

'Y-yeah, I just don't know what to get hi-her. Her' she laughed and pointed at him as she cackled out 'Can't pull the wool over my wee eyes laddy! So what does he like? I have everything you could need' He blushed due to being caught and the cold weather as he explained his predicament. She nodded and smiled before ducking down. She rummaged around for a while before popping back up, an item in hand. Jasper sniffing at the cart and the horses being entertained.

She brought out a small blue box and opened it, revealing a silver pendant in the shape of an anchor. Long, smooth rope for a chain and a small blue gem in the centre of the Anchor, 'My Hope' written up the stalk of the anchor in small but elegant handwriting. It was about the size of his thumb pad. 'He'll love it, you are both Fisher's right? I assumed from the fact you live here. I would say he loves blue. You can have it for 13 and a half shillings, box and all' Her smile was soft and slightly crooked and he grabbed his pouch from his coat pocket. He pulled out fifteen shillings and handed them to her, he picked up the box and stuffed it in his pocket. George should like it. 'Thanks, Ma'am. Please, keep the change' She brightened as he waved while walking back into town while calling for Jasper to follow, with her yelling a 'good luck laddy!' in her Irish accent.

The rest of the day was spent looking through other stalls and picking up some bread and butter like George had asked him to, as well as checking in with the nurse from before who was also shopping for her significant other. By the time he had made it back home the windows had been blacked out. The town must have gotten their curtains then. He stepped in and pulled off his wellies, the box safely tucked away. Jasper trotted in after him and shook his fur, getting cold water in Peter's face before running into their small lounge. He heard his dad greeting him from the lounge and he joined them, George at reading a book on fishing like always.

'How was your day Pete?' 'Great, great. Yeah, the town is still as lively as always despite everything.' His dad nodded and George bounced up and down slightly. He cocked his eyebrow as he asked 'What?' the 'love' went unspoken.

'It's Christmas soon silly! In 3 days!' Their tattered and incredibly old calendar on the wall displayed it was indeed the 22nd. 'You're not wrong, excited for presents?' he replied a quick 'yes!' before they were chasing each other up the stairs, Jasper yipping as his dad sighed while they rushed into their room. They quickly fell into their typical cuddle position and fell asleep forgetting all about dinner.

The days up until Christmas day were spent snuggled up or buying food for the dinner his dad wanted them to cook together. As one of his small traditions. On Christmas day they all sat in the lounge and on the settee as well as the arm chair, their radio playing a typical Christmas music themed station. He got more jumpers from his dad, like always, and some other trinkets. Jasper got another bandana and George and Peter got his dad a vintage fishing rod with their money put together. His dad was very happy. He hadn't forgotten about the necklace but George seemed to beat him to it when they were in his, though basically their, room in the evening after a hearty home made Christmas dinner.

'Here! I got something for you! It's not much though' He held out a little purple bag, tied with a thin ribbon. 'This lady with a caravan helped me pick it out. Wait. Caravan lady?

'Was she Irish?' 'Yeah! Wait, did you meet her too?!' He pulled out his blue box 'Yeah, I got something for you too' they both began laughing until they were hunched over. What a serendipitous event. They passed the presents over, both sat on his hammock ( he'll always prefer it over a real bed), and slowly opened them. He unwrapped the bag to reveal a bracelet of some sorts. A piece of rope intertwined with dark leather. He slipped it on and was awe in how it fit his hand so well. The rope was also intertwined with a deep maroon ribbon, one of his favourite colours thanks to Moonstone, and felt sturdy on his wrist. He looked up to see George had opened the box and was, crying?

'What's wrong?! Do you not like it? I can-' he was tackled into a hug as George began laughing,

'I love it! It's perfect. That lady really knew what she was doing. Thank you! Here put it on my neck. Come on!' He pulled back and pecked his lips before scooting around so Peter was facing his back. 'Alright alright, slow down love. Here' He grabbed the pendant and pulled it around George's neck and clipped it before peppering his neck with kisses, making him giggle. When they had gushed over each other and he had said his thanks in return, after a while they fell into a slumber in the hammock as it lulled them to sleep while swinging softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (AN - ok so i'm shattered :'D uni/college is murdering me so i'll post the next four now, i'm off tomoz yayyy- anyway, thanks for reading~)


	25. Chapter 25: Gruss vom, guss vom Krampus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gifts from Krampus

(Light warning here, there is some uncomfortable scenes)

It was a Saturday and everyone else was out of the house while Tommy got the day off from Mr Johson, telling him to have some rest and it was about nine am when there was a knock at the door. He was sat in the dining room reading 'The mysterious case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde' when he heard the resounding thuds. When he got to the door it was the air warden and had a large wheel barrow full of cardboard boxes.

'Cheerio Son, I think I've seen ya around a few times, I was wondering if your household was missing any gas masks. We got the new shipment in today. We don't want anyone to not have one after all' He was a tall man with a scruffy beard and was looking at him weirdly, Tommy felt like he'd seen him before. It was a bit odd for someone to be handing them out, usually, you would go get them yourself, which they had yet to do.

'Oh! Yeah, We have-four, no five! Five residents here' The man went to grab five of the boxes and handed them to him. 'Here, Don't forget your black out curtains too, you're missing a few' he winked and he was off, Tommy nodding as he went to the next few houses. He placed the boxes down in the lounge, on the coffee table. He opened the nearest one and looked at the mask within the paper packaging. He read through the instructions before closing the box up, everything placed back.

Looks like he would have to go into town then. He grabbed some monies from the 'Grocer' jar among 'Post' and 'Rail works' where they kept their wages and left the door in his trench coat. It was probably a bad idea to bring it, and had removed the outside belt and wore normal clothes underneath while tucking the collar in, but it was cold and the start of October. He'd rather not freeze. The dirt road was crusted dry from the cold and he tried not to trip on the hard mud. When he was in town he went to the Post office first, that's where the curtains were being sold. Buying 3 for about 2 shillings as he put them in the bag he brought with him and headed to the haberdashery. The three of them would need a winter coat, as well as some more clothes.

The shop was cosy and full of clothes of all sorts, he spied the coats first and went to pick out three. They had long coats in brown and black, similar to his trench coat, though he had grown incredibly attached to his own, and picked out three that were everyone's sizes. Roussel and Alex were very similar in that regard. He picked up some shirts and trousers, along with some socks and paid for them, coming to two and a half pounds. and placed them, in the brown bag the lady had put them in, into his large bag and left the shop.

The chill nipped at him as he made his way home from the first round, he still needed to pick up some beer for the house and some cigarettes and a lighter, of course for Alex, and some little extras. But he wouldn't be able to carry it all. By the time he was home it was mid-afternoon and he set the clothes on the same table as the boxes before making himself some lunch. The house felt empty and phantom like, he left quickly. By the time he was at the brewery and had picked up some beer, placed in his bag again, careful of the glass it was already time for dinner. He had spent a lot of time talking to the workers and then feeding them some home cooked lunch after he found out what they ate every day. Pure slop. Tommy popped into the Grocer's to buy the rest of his list and made it over to the Pub to eat something.

He made quick work of his pie and beer when he felt eyes on his back. Watching. Tommy paid the innkeeper for the food before grabbing his bag and walking outside. The eyes followed him on his way out. As he stepped outside into the brisk cold he halted. It was blackout time. Tommy had completely forgotten. He could barely make out his feet as the only illumination was from the moon half glazed by clouds. The eyes were still burning into his back as he managed to adjust to the darkness, hastily moving towards home. The others would be home now and hungry unless Heidi had made them something to eat. It was about eight thirty and he was making his was over in a very brisk walk.

The eyes followed.

He didn't dare stop or look behind him and avoided as many alleyways as possible, the opposite of what he had ingrained in his skull. Leaving himself open and vulnerable. It made him feel nauseous. The street was terrifying, nothing moved and he felt lost, only following what he thought was the way home. He continued on before something grabbed him from the inky darkness making him yelp, he dropped the bag in shock but didn't hear the contents spill so it probably fell naturally on itself. The thing that grabbed him was a hand and then there were two, heavy and thick with some hairs visible on him as he was pushed into a wall roughly. So he was in an alleyway then, dark and impossible to navigate other than the tiny oil lamp in the corner of the street (which really shouldn't be there). He couldn't see his attacker at the hands shifted and there was a knee between his legs, locking him in. He tried to call for help but the person, who was probably a bloke, punched him in the mouth (hard), busting his lip as he tasted copper and saw stars.

The man began pulling at his coat with breath that smelt of cider, so he was off his face in alcohol, trying to take it off and he pushed down, trying to keep the sleeves on him. He struggled some more, getting another punch in the face (the nose) before he was panting and his whole face hurt. The man had gotten his coat off and he sucked at his neck leaving ghoulish kisses as he went, making him squirm and try to move or shout. he then began trying to unbuckle Tommy's belt. Oh. He felt sick and dirty but knew the monster needed space to get under his belt, allowing his leg enough movement as he sent it flying into his chest. A satisfying thud following. His shirt was half unbuttoned but his belt was fine as he punched the guy in the face raising his arm as he found the man was rather tall, several times before he must have been knocked out. Slumped against the other side of the alleyway. With precision he hadn't used since those barren towns, he slipped on his coat and grabbed his bag before running out of the alleyway and back towards the small villa, in deep darkness.

He tripped on a few cobbles before he found dirt beneath his feet and couldn't feel happier. Spotting the villa and an oil lamp placed on the doorstep, he moved faster. The sick feeling in his gut only worsened as he realised, what were they going to think? Tommy knew they would figure it out from just looking at him. They'd probably either hate him or kick him out. He knew his eyes were glassy but he didn't want to feel any of those eyes on him again so ran up and opened the door. He dropped the bag and slammed the door behind him, breathing heavy and his face ached. Tommy squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to breathe. There was shuffling before he heard a shout making him flinch slightly.

'Holy shit Tom! What- Who did this?!' Alex was by his side first as he grabbed the bag and pulled him into a bear hug. There was more movement and he heard Heidi gasp. 'Oh Love, You poor thing, come on into the dining room. The other two idiots are there. Alex go grab the medical kit.' Heidi pulled him into the dining room as Alex ran upstairs and Roussel was the first up and rushed over to him, there's no way he would want him now. Stomach coiling in agitation. He didn't look anyone in the eyes as they sat him down and Heidi tended to his wounds, a large scowl on her face.

'Bloody fucking monster!' He flinched 'I'll kill them when I see them dear just you wait', she must be talking about the man, not him, as she cleaned up the blood around his face and the tears, moving onto treating the bruises. 'Ev' go and get him some pyjamas, warm them up for him while you're at it' 'Yeah, of course, Gran' He moved to trot upstairs. By the time she was finished his pale skin was even more prominent against the bruises left behind. 'I was wondering why you were out so late, Honey you should have stayed somewhere else. There was no need to risk it' He felt even more guilty and spoke up after having some warm milk, courtesy of Alex.

'I-I didn't want to stay. Had to come home and cook dinner. He-he followed me from the pub anyway. I tried to be fast, he beat me to it'. He tried to explain it to Heidi who was gentle and managed to tell her he got away before it got worse but by the end, Alex and Roussel were seething. Roussel would probably only have been able to pick out a few of the words but he would be able to piece it together from the way he looked. 'I swear I'll find the sheep shagger an' kill 'im!' 'Alex. calm down, we're aren't in Wales' He scoffed, Alex's disgust for the welsh probably came from his inner Scottish, she turned back to him 'I'm just glad you're safe deary, there have been men out there at blackout like him, hurting people something awful. Get changed and you can sleep, I fed us don't worry. I have a feeling you aren't...hungry, ' He nodded numbly and they made their way upstairs, getting changed and they got into their bed now dubbed 'cocoon' by Alex. They were careful not to freak him out as they settled in, Both holding on just like before if not tighter. Only then had he realised that Alex and Roussel had both been in the trench coats and boots, ready to go find him and uncaring towards what people thought, as he had entered the doorway. They were worried about him, ready to go tackle darkness to find him. Feeling slightly more relieved he went to sleep that night with nightmares. Old and new.

The rest of the month passed and he stopped having the very frequent nightmares and only had the occasional like the others, Roussel still covered him in kisses when they were alone if not more possessively, and he never saw the man again or went out at blackout. Alex had tried to find them but stopped after he nearly beat up a stranger on the assumption and Tommy had scolded him for it while they dodged the police that may or may not have known. They had placed the curtains up and they enjoyed the new clothes and Alex thoroughly relishing in his cigarettes, though a bit too much if you asked him.

November rolled around and his birthday was going to be soon, the 11th, and he wasn't particularly excited but he would be twenty-one and that felt kind of special. Kind of. He had an inkling that the rest of their new little family were planning something, whispering or hiding things. He pretended not to notice to let them enjoy themselves.

He was working his shift on the 10th and afterwards made his way home, Mr Johnson letting him leave earlier to avoid Blackout. When he got in at four-forty-eight he got to making dinner for the others. Heidi was out who knows where he never got to ask her where she went. He decided to keep it simple with sausages and mash and at about half five the door opened. A tired Evan made his way in, smiling at the sight of him. 'You're a sight for sore eyes I tell Ya, What's for dinner mum?' he had been teasing him with the nickname for the past few days and he replied a quick 'Bangers and mash' before adding on 'now get cleaned up and set the table while you're at it' Evan moaned but went upstairs regardless and Tommy smiled as he continued dinner. It was pretty much done and the table was set as the others came in through the pale door, kicking off boots and murmuring. He called them from the dining room, dishing out portions. Heidi entered first, a soft smile on her face as she greeted them, taking her seat. Roussel was in second, brushing their hands in a fond gesture as he sat down next to where Tommy would be seated. Alex came in last, carrying a newspaper in hand. He sat down and placed the paper on the table and Tommy put the bowl back in the kitchen before seating himself. His thigh touching Roussel's in comfort.

They talked about their usual days as Alex spoke up 'Dunkirk spirit is what they're calling it' his fork froze as he stilled. Roussel stiffening too. Evan seemed to slightly numb in his chair. That was a word he hadn't heard in a while.

'Calling what 'Dunkirk Spirit?' the name left a bitter taste in his mouth. 'The morale of the public, from Dunkirk through to this 'Blitz', what they're callin' the bombings and raids. How we're just...getting on with our lives while others die or lose their homes, jobs, family. How we've become numb to it all and shit like that' so that's what it was? Dunkirk Spirit. He had to admit it had a nice ring to it.

They went to bed with full stomachs that night.

The next day he woke up to a warm bed and an empty house. He had forgotten it was his birthday, not feeling any different. He had been given the day off from work, unusually but Mr Johnson wouldn't let him come in getting nervous when he said he should stay, so he stayed in bed. The covers engulfed him but he didn't fall back asleep. Simply couldn't. When he finally made his way downstairs it was lunchtime and he mentally scolded himself for missing breakfast. After eating a large lunch he prepared, some sandwiches and a small salad, He spent the afternoon reading in the lounge. The clock hit six when he heard the front door open and a lot of scuffling and Alex barking out 'Don't come in Freckles!' and the lounge door closed. Ok? He put the book down and sat patiently, the ruckus blaring through the door from the kitchen. What on earth were they doing?

There were some more bangs and thumps before Alex burst through the door, cocky grin on display while he was dressed in his usual dirt and oil from work.

'Well, Come on then!' He pulled him up from the chair and led him to the kitchen and the sight took his breath away. Alex held him fondly by the shoulders and rested his chin there,

'So. What do you think?'

The kitchen window was still blacked out and they had placed small tea lights around like fireflies, decorating the table in tea cloth, small bunting made out of cotton hanging from the cupboards. The centrepiece was a simple yet beautiful cake, decorated with blue icing that spelt 'Happy 21st!' in elegant handwriting. Small icing birds decorating the rim. A long luxurious ribbon tied around the sides. There were some small presents wrapped some blue paper next to it and someone, presumably Heidi, had hung paper birds from the ceiling lamp. The whole thing was whimsical.

'It's, It's wonderful. Thank you' He moved to bring them all into a hug, all of them encasing him in a family like gesture. He felt giddy and loved. He pulled back and began laughing, everyone eventually joining in with him. They cut the cake up after dinner, made by Heidi as a thank you, and divvied it up onto plates. Once they had eaten almost all of the cake, Heidi and him eating properly with a fork in hand while the other three ate with their fingers getting icing all over their hands and face and he had to clean them up, Heidi launched herself from her chair and ran into the drawing room while shouting at Alex to get the presents. He heaved himself up and went to grab them. When she returned she had a few records in hand and walked over to the gramophone.

'You'll love these deary' as she was setting it up with the help of Evan, Alex returned.

'Here Freckles, we got you some fancy things' he winked as he handed the small presents to him.

'Y-You didn't need to' Alex grabbed his hand and urged him on. He opened the larger one first, revealing an elegant deck of cards and 'Of Mice and Men', an intriguing looking book. He giggled as Alex explained the cards were for when they would get 'utterly pissed' and Heidi scolded him for such foul language. They had also bought him a deep blue jumper made of thick wool, how did they know he likes blue so much? And the last one was apparently from Roussel himself, who smiled fondly at him.

The present was rather small, box-shaped and wrapped in the similar paper. He opened it to reveal a ring, silver and slim. The others looked confused but fondly as he pushed Alex away as he tried to look at it. He took the ring out and looked at it more closely. The band was simple but had a bird and flowers engraved along with a boat in the middle. Fitting. He noticed that there was some writing on the inner side, peering it said 'aimé' in an elegant font, with a date on the other side. '05.1940' the month they met. He put it on his forefinger so it didn't look like he was married and put the box down before enveloping Roussel in a hug, secretly kissing his cheek before pulling back, he kept it simple so he could understand.

'I love it, thank you' The ring meant so more than it first appeared and he was grateful for it, he didn't want to ask how much it cost or how he got it. It looked completely normal on his hand, meaning he could wear it without worrying. Heidi started the Gramophone and started up some ballroom music, where on earth does she keep those things? And Roussel pulled him up by the waist as Evan gently grabbed Heidi's hand. They began to clumsily Walts around the room, bumping into furniture and each other but they all laughed along with the song and each other. Alex sat grumpily on his own until the next song where Tommy pulled him up and let him guide him in another dance before switching to Roussel as Heidi switched to Alex. The rest of the night was spent in a similar fashion, they laughed like the giddy fools they were, champagne in hand.

December flew by with them spending Christmas in much the same way, laughing and making each other look like idiots, small presents bought between each other and Tommy making them a lovely turkey dinner, the last real Christmas meal they'll have for a while due to rationing clamping down. They went to bed with full stomachs and happy hearts.

Eventually, 1941 rolled around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (AN - it's still late here , i'm sorry Tommy T^T)


	26. Chapter 26: Broken Dishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is still doing the stupid :/

again, some light(er) warnings for this chapter)

It was mid-January when he went into town, or what was left of it, and found a tent set up. Young lads about his age lined up. There were navy officials dotted around, introducing themselves and holding the queue in place. He had completely forgotten over the course of the year, Conscription was happening this week. He moved closer to talk one of the officials. The man was burly and had thick arms, a dominating air about him. When he approached the man gave him a bright smile and introduced himself,

'Aye Son, name's Andrew. You here to sign up? How old are you?' He didn't really know if he wanted to. Peering at the long line of boys and men he had a feeling he had to or turn cowardice. If not to protect his home and family.

'Yeah. I, well, I'm 19. 20 soon' well that wasn't too much of a lie, depends on your definition of soon.

'Well, we can squeeze you in, we need all the navy we can get. Are you a fisherman? Have boat experience?'

'you'd be right. Since I was a kid. When do you, leave? How long do I have to think?' The man joshed at him and replied 'Well we leave tomorrow, bring you on Sunday, depending on the size. Basic training of six months before you set sail. You have a day to think about it. Though you shouldn't need to Sonny!' and he laughed as he walked away, smiling and waving at him. He had a day. Either he doesn't go and helps at home or leaves like he should and join the navy. Fight in the Atlantic he supposed. He spent the rest of the day meandering and thinking before he made it home. It was a Friday and When he entered the house Jasper met him with a wagging tail, wanting a treat no doubt. He heard his Dad and George in the kitchen saying dinner was ready and already on the table.

He pulled his coat off and made his way in as Jasper went to sit in his homemade bed, knitted by Mrs Hamilton. As he sat down they resumed talking over a fish pie before his dad asked,

'So Pete, where were you today? Livening up the bar? I bloody hope not' He smiled nervously before replying, well here goes.

'I was at the conscription tent.' The whole room stilled, forks didn't move and the air felt colder. His dad put his cutlery down before rigidly replying,

'Absolutely not Peter. Final warning. You will not be leaving this town until the bloody war is over and done with' and that was that as the rest of the meal was silent and tense. He shouldn't have said anything. The rest of the night was him tossing slightly against George and the hammock, bloody faces and ships in his soft nightmares, unable to sleep.

The next day he didn't mention it again, only said he was out to help the man who owned Sundowner and jogged down to the tent, the line a lot less big. When he made it and stood in line his chest tightened. He felt a sense of resentment but didn't understand it, placing it as nervousness. As he got to the front he knew he couldn't leave, the point of no return. He'd be labelled coward or useless. Neither of which he wanted. The tent was a deep blue, a woman at the desk inside and the odd sailor around, another man who was probably a captain was stood next to the woman in uniform. They were close to the remains of the Harbour, sour faces on anyone who looked. There was no way he wasn't doing this. When he was there he answered all the questions, they batted an eye at his age simply saying it was close enough, his sailing experience too much to pass up. And he was signed on. His name written in black ink and signed. They mentioned where to meet them tomorrow like the rest of the lads and gave him his uniform, mentioning he was a 'Militiaman' and told him to go to the back to see if the uniform was his size.

The small cupboard to change in was tight and made him feel nauseous. At least he couldn't go back now. His dad would have to deal with it. The uniform fitted well, he noticed it gave him enough room to move his arms right and brace his legs. Alright then. There was a small mirror and he took himself in quickly. The uniform wasn't too much of an actual uniform, large boots fit for water with light blue thick trousers and a deep blue fleece. Along with the deep navy cap, untouched by boat or rank, the Royal Navy symbol pinned to one side. He was doing this. His hair had grown out slightly, a paler dust blonde than before and his jaw was deeper, gaunter cheek bones and deep eye lids due to lack of sleep. He had also grown slightly in both height and muscle and could probably pass as 23-ish. When he exited the 'changing room' the lady told him they would set off tomorrow and to go show his folks and let them be proud. They'd be anything but.

It was once again late evening and he wondered where the time had gone as he made his way up the road, noticing Mrs Hamilton sitting on a bench. She smiled and waved him over but she frowned as she noticed the cap in his hand. As he sat down she began,

'Oh, Pete. You shouldn't. You don't have to- Your fathers' He swallowed thickly and pushed the conversation along

'I know. I have to go Mrs-' 'Call me Eliza dear' she patted his leg as she continued

'You know what they'll think' he gestured to his home and then to the town 'I can't just, sit here and wait for something bad to happen Mrs-Eliza. I. It's not right. I have to go' She seemed to understand but still frowned.

'Your father will be oh so sad dear. John and I used to be and I would hope are still good friends. Your-your brother. James, He did a similar thing Peter, Please don't put your dad through this twice'.

He stilled and looked forward. He wasn't James. He wasn't. He had been the better son, this was different. James went by choice. He. He didn't. He clasped his knees with pale knuckles and gritted his teeth.

'I'm not. He's different. I'm not James'

She huffed at him and he looked at her from the corner of his eye.

'Well deary, James thought the same thing. Keep this up and you'll be dead in the ocean like him. A lifeless, nameless, faceless corpse among so many. If I were you-wait. Where are you going!?' He had had enough and stood abruptly from his seat and turned to glare at her

'I'm. Not. My. Brother. Alright, piss off with that crap' and he stalked away, not caring how she reacted. He was furious. Livid. As if she had the right to talk about him in such a foul way. He stalked inside and his dad was moving from the bathroom at the end of the corridor, as he started taking his boots off when he realised. He was in uniform. Cap held tight in one hand. He stopped and looked up to see his dad's distraught face. Shit. It wasn't supposed to go like this. 'Dinner's ready. George is out at Mrs Hamilton's and with Jasper for the weekend' ah he had started doing that to look after her in her older age over the past month or so 'She owns a dog you know? Philly, Lovely mutt' He was shaking slightly and held the door handle a little too tight. Shit. 'A-alright. Dad- I' 'Don't. Not now Pete. After dinner alright'

Dinner was desperate and empty, each bite laced with guilt, his cap lay innocently on the table edge. When they were done his dad moved to the settee, didn't look him in the eye as he began cleaning up. When he was finished he decided to confront the conversation, how it would go was beyond him.

'I leave tomorrow.' The room was dark, all warmth had seemingly left them. His dad kept reading one of his aircraft books.

'You aren't leaving. You'll stay in bed and make breakfast with us, then we'll go visit Mrs Hamilton and walk Jasper-'

'I have to go.' His father stilled and placed the book down before standing, moving to look him dead in the eye with a glare. Peter followed suit. 'You. Aren't. Leaving'

'Dad I have no other choice, I'm conscripted. It has to happen whether you like it or not-' His eyes were darting around the room, avoiding his father's gaze

'God dammit Peter, You had to go and pull this shit behind my back!' He had never seen his dad curse or shout at him like this. He felt fourteen again, listening to the fighting downstairs. Except now he was the one fighting.

'You can't be serious! I'm not staying and running with my tail between my legs dad! I have to go, can't you just accept this!?' They fought back and forth, spilling anger and unwanted malice at each other. They waved their hands about and continued their fight. His dad adamant he wasn't going. He had tried to assure him and tell him he'd be fine, it was only training but his father refused so he turned into a malicious beast and his father followed suit. It was like two vultures in a cage, he felt things smash on the floor, vibrating through his boots and feet. He hadn't even realised they were throwing things as they fought. Until his father crossed a line he never thought they would have to cross,

'God dammit Peter Alfred Richardson Dawson do I need to bloody belt this out of you!? You are pulling your final straw!?' he stilled, eyes wide like a deer as the words resonated within him as his dad reached for his buckle. His dad had never tried to beat him before, or even mentioned it. He had only ever been belted once before, at school when he was about eight and refused to agree with his teacher. He had never disagreed again. He was tumbling up the stairs faster than possible, his dad shouting broken apologises while he launched into his room. He found his bracelet from George, leaving it there in the morning so he didn't lose it during signing up, and rummaged through his drawers while grabbing his coat and a satchel he had long forgotten. He heard his dad at his door, which he had locked in fury, bellowing for him to open the door. It was all white noise as he tried searching through the tears, finding a pen Mrs Hamilton had given him when he was younger, ink still full. He stuffed extra things into the satchel and spare clothes before noticing the envelope he hadn't seen in years, James handwriting staring at him accusingly. Son of a bitch. He grabbed it and screwed it into his coat pocket and did a quick spin, feeling he had everything. And launched himself out the door after grabbing his cap of the kitchen table, running passed his dad as he tried to grab him screaming his name and he was out the door, legging it to the town. The salt filled tears had slightly stained his uniform and he made it to the harbour.

It was already well into the night and he would need a place to hide and stay, his head filled with noise and ringing. He felt so cold and empty by the time he spotted Sundowner, a rather safe place for now and not as predictable as Moonstone, and stumbled below deck and curling up with his satchel and cap by his side. Peter fell into a harsh night of fresh nightmares and a stiff body sat against the cold metal.

When he awoke he felt bloody shattered, muscles aching and a headache. He realised he hadn't grabbed any money and hoped there was some in his coat pocket. Stepping out of the boat, the harsh winter hit his face and numbed his cheeks slowly. Wiping his teary eyes and wiping down his uniform and placing his cap on his messy hair he was off. The town, harbour and docks especially were filled with other militiamen, uniforms making them stand out. There was breakfast, or what he assumed was breakfast sat out on some tables, the elderly serving the men. They would be getting a train to the base, much like the others last May. He weaved his way to the tables and grabbed some toast and tea before filling onto the train with the rest.

The train was a trusty steam, Whistling as she took the men in, red paint shimmering in the pale light from the clouds. when he got on the cotton patterns lining the walls and mahogany wood made him feel a little better, trying not to think of last night he filed into an empty compartment that would probably be full soon anyway. It was early morning and the tracks were still slightly frosted, black gravel standing out underneath. He settled down by the window, satchel on the rack above, coat still hugging him providing warmth. He must look like a bloody wreck if his distorted reflection in the glass was anything to go by. It was about ten minutes before his compartment door opened, revealing a boy about 20 with bright blonde hair and deep green eyes, about Peter's height and rather energetic.

'Hey mate, this space free? everywhere else is pretty much full' He must have taken in his shocking appearance and noticed how he looked exhausted. Felt it too. 'Yeah sure, it's free. Peter. A pleasure to meet you' they shook hands as he moved into the seat opposite the table 'Fredrick, call me Fred' he placed his bag on the rack and settled in, newspaper already out. They had a small conversation as the train started up as everyone who showed boarded. Fredrick was apparently also a fisherman, though they lived on the other side of Ramsgate, lived with his two younger sisters and his father owned a fish 'n chip shop. He seemed like a nice bloke but Peter was not in the talking mood. A trolley lady eventually got to their compartment and opened the door, shelves full of sandwiches, tea, biscuits etc. He had checked his pockets and found about 13 shillings, lucky, as the letter fell next to his lap by the side of the train. He bought some tea and a bacon butty while Fredrick bought the same but with a biscuit. And she was off, humming away as the door slid shut. Fredrick joined him in appreciation for the butty and tea before they were in comfortable silence again. He peered down at the letter by his lap and picked it up, bringing it to the table. 'Ah, is that. What do those bloody Americans say, A 'Dear John' letter? As in a sweetheart who you left behind,' he winked as Peter replied a quick 'family matters' before he remembered.

He hadn't talked to George in two or so days. Or said goodbye. Hell, he probably doesn't even know he's gone yet, he won't get back with Jasper until this afternoon. God, he was such a bloody eejit and a prick. The guilt ate at him as he stared down at the letter.

'Well mate, you gonna open it or not? For a family letter, it sure looks old and ruined. You best open it before it's gone for good' He chuckled before returning to his book, one he had gotten out earlier. 'Alright, you plonker' that gained a rough laugh and a playful punch from across the table. He looked down once more and smoothed it out on the table. The address and 'To My Family' blurred and less bright since when it arrived.

He slid his thumb beneath the fold and pulled sideways, the envelope coming undone as he went before he pulled out the paper within.

The familiar handwriting greeted him solemnly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (AN- again I'm tired af so if it's inaccurate, it probs kinda is. I bent the rules this time. I feel like this is pretty similar to what we used to do but alas)


	27. Chapter 27: Broken Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George is annoyed at everyone :// for good reason

The weekend was lovely with Eliza's company, as he learnt to call her. She had three dogs, Philly or Phillip, William and Alexander Jr. Lovely King Charleses that had brought Jasper into their little circle, treating him like a big brother. Eliza had been especially welcoming and homey, though on Saturday evening had a tight lip and didn't talk much. The house was similar to theirs, steep and rather small but comfortable though he felt like she needed the help now she was much older. He would be right. he left the apple pie he had made for her on Sunday afternoon and walked back to their humble abode, feeling helpful and rather whimsical. The cold nipped at him and urged him forward a little faster and he briskly made it to their door along with Jasper at his heels, pale yellow paint wrinkling and peeling at the edges, brass door handle rough and worn.

As he stepped in he felt off, somehow. There were no lights on, the black out curtains only letting a little bit of light in, the kitchen was empty and there was no sign of breakfast or lunch. From where he was stood, Peter's door was open and waning on its side at the hinges. The lounge door was open wider and he could see Mr Dawson's hunched shiloutee on the settee in the bleakness. He slipped his boots off and Jasper padded inside but stopped and hung his tail and head low, even he knew something was off.

'Mr Dawson? Are you alright? Where's Peter? Is he alright?' he continued asking questions as his boots came off, laid next to all of Peter's and Mr Dawson's strangely, and walked into the settee and turning on the less bright lamp and turned to Mr Dawson as Jasper hung by the door, waiting.

There was no reply as he moved to get him some tea, stepping over and around smashed cups and his favourite vase, the one Mrs Hamilton gifted them, causing a small ache in his heart. What on earth had happened? As the kettle boiled he heard Mr Dawson shift and groan, how long was he sat in that position? He also noticed a belt, Mr Dawson's judging by the little fishes impressed into the leather, laying on the stairs. This looked horrible. When he was done fixing up the tea George moved back into the lounge,

'So are you going to tell me what happened? Or-' he set the tea in his lap and moved to begin picking the glass and porcelain up with a towel and plate in hand. Mr Dawson, John as he told him to call him repeatedly, looked like he was thinking of what to say. Once all the mess on the floor was cleaned and binned appropriately, Mr Dawson spoke up as he re-entered the room.

'I'm a terrible man sometimes George. Utterly terrible. You need to remember that' His voice was cracked and rough, dry from lack of anything to eat or drink. He looked a lot older and paler as he turned to look at him as he continued.

'I-I well. You see, I know what it's like out there. Which is why I refuse to do anything but what I believe is good for you younger children. That's just what you are, Children. Bloody children!' He gestured his hands as he spoke, anger rising. George sat and let him talk.

'I went too far George. Remember even I and Mrs Hamilton and you and- Peter. Can do that. To which I am god awfully sorry, I am so so sorry!' He began blubbing as he spoke, voice distraught with his hands holding his head.

'It's. Alright, Mr Dawson. Can you tell me- tell me what happened?' He kept his voice quiet and posture relaxed, he didn't want the situation to worsen. John stilled before he spoke again, harrowingly,

'We had an argument, me and Peter. He-well I threatened to-' his hand wandered to the belt and he felt his throat tighten 'You know the rest. He just looked so- frightened George. I- I never wanted to see that look again after, well especially not because of me. He- He bloody skidded like a deer being shot at, wouldn't look me in the. The eyes, as he scrambled. I couldn't stop him. I couldn't grab him in time. He left' The words were broken and laced with sorrow and guilt. Old and chapped lips trembling and tears on his weary cheeks. He had never seen him cry before. There was obviously a reason for this whole thing, he ignored the whole threatening part for the time being to push him further.

'Why did you, argue like that? The remains don't look pleasant' He offered him a small smile and waited and asked, 'Where is Peter anyway? Why haven't you looked for him or called for me?' John looked at him with such desperate and glassy eyes it made him feel sick.

'Peter has gone off to war George'

His whole body paused, he didn't move or speak as he looked at John. What? He laughed bitterly before replying,

'You're joking, r-right? Is he out fishing or at the harbour? Or in James' room or at the town or-'

'He most likely left this morning. On the train. He's not coming back until this bloodied nightmare ends George'

But. but he hadn't even said goodbye. Or even a bloody word. George hadn't even seen him in days! He was already up and shoving his boots on telling John he was off to the train station, he might still be there. There was a slim chance. As soon as the door slammed behind him he was legging it, kicking up sleet and water as he ran.

By the time he had gotten there, pushing strangers and dodging walls with 'sorry's laced in there, there was a train already leaving. The time was three-twenty-one, there was still a very slim chance. He dodged up the stairs onto the platform where there was a navy officer. He called to them and jogged over, breathing through burning lungs.

'I- Is that the last train? Have they all l-left?' The man looked startled by him and quickly replied,

'Yes, that was indeed the last train'

And he was running again, back the way he came. God bloody damn it. They had no way of contacting him unless they got lucky or Peter wrote to them, he had left like a ghost on the walls. The town hadn't changed for anyone else but them. To George, it felt desolate.

By the time he was home again John had cleaned up, lights on and an early dinner cooking in the oven. John turned to him as he took off his boots in disappointment.

'Pete, Pete is gone, Mr Dawson.' Their tired eyes met, the anguish filled the house in droves.

The whole room stilled and his only reply was,

'I know'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (AN- ok so this is really short in comparison, I'm Sorry T^T but I felt like adding anymore would mess stuff up later on. Forgive me : anyway , see ya friday~)


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